From behind the steering wheel, I was looking out the passenger window of my car. But it seemed I could easily have been looking through an enormous picture window of a seaside resort.
The morning sky was a blend of pink and yellow pastels, the colors somehow both poignant and muted. The sun, well above the trees, retained the half light of new dawn. A bank of wispy clouds created the appearance I was looking at the day through sheer curtains of rose tinted gauze.
Had it been a seaside resort, artists would have flocked outdoors with easels and brushes only to cry over the impossibility of capturing on canvas what nature had splashed across the sky.
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