I woke at about 4:15 this morning and tossed in bed. Around 5:30 the sky began to brighten, not blue but a pink-salmon colored rose. I could see that there was a thin filter of clouds, just from the way the light entered the room. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning, I mused. Around 5:45 I got up to feed the dogs and make coffee, and I heard raindrops dripping off the leaves. I thought it was our morning fog rain — when the moisture in the air precipitates, collects on leaves, gathers together and then falls to the ground. But when I went out on the front porch, I could see that it was a real cloud-sourced rain, but with hardly any clouds in the sky. And directly in front of me was a faint rainbow. These three aspects — the rose tinted sky, the invisible rain and the faint rainbow — combined in a way that I have never experienced. It was, in a word, singular.
References
Almanac for 2020-08-18
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