I like getting up early. The window near my computer table faces east, and if the sun is making her appearance on any particular day, I see the first ribbons of golds and yellows and pinks that she sends. I often wish I could paint, because if I could capture this loveliness on canvas, well… I think painters are touched by angels.
This morning, as I settled into my chair, I saw the most miraculous golds and yellows and pinks… most especially the pinks. The pinks were all at once Cherry and Carnation and Rose… flowers blooming in the sky. The pinks were Persian and French and Spanish-dancing Fandango… continents of pink painting the sky.
And the most glorious pink of all, the pink of Amaranth… and in that moment of Amaranth Pink, I felt the beauty and the presence of Mabel Love, the baby angel of my dear, dear, precious friend Arianne. Mabel was born a baby angel on January 8th, loved by her parents and three brothers, grandparents and family, and friends upon friends upon friends in this world of blogs. I love Amaranth Pink, named so for the color of pink Amaranth flowers… for its depth and brilliance and its divinity and femininity. But Amaranth is more sacred for its immortality, the never fading flower of purity and hope.
Mabel, adorned in Amaranth Pink, danced across the morning sky today, gently pulling with her the ribbons of golds and yellows and magnificent pinks of the eastern sun. Yes, painters and poets are touched by angels. And sometimes mere mortals are, too. I was today. Now, each time I see a sunrise, I will think of Mabel surrounded with blossoms and continents of pinks… wrapped in the everlasting beauty of her Amaranth Pink… bringing in the beauty of each new day.
Mabel Love is our poet, our painter. Mabel Love is our angel of sunrise, blooming forever in her renewal of our earth…