What else is there to describe in the morning?

First thing in the morning as I leave work, I am immediately struck by the ball of poo the celestial dung beetle of Egyptian lore is pushing above the horizon, and every morning I must think of new ways to describe this clockwork miracle. I sit in my car, cruising at a lovely 70-something miles per hour and think, "How will I describe yet another sunrise to my dear readers in a way that I haven't before so they don't suffer from rigor mortis at yet another dawn brought on by this ball of clay spinning around?" It is a challenge you know.

Today, the Easter-egg sky of dry, chalky pastels reminded me of the Middle East in a way that only someone who has never been to the Middle East can be reminded. The morning fog rose across the city of Madison in waves of willowy, wafting Santa Clause chimney-puffs of silky smoke. The sun, a flashlight in the eyes of tripping drunk burns through the haze and I see old video of the sunrise after Baghdad was bombed back in 1991 superimposed on the scene. The smoky tendrils of fog like smoke rising from smoldering buildings and charred neighbors, satellite dishes on rooftops like CNN and Al-Jazeera fighting to broadcast the aftermath of this Middle Eastern Dresden. The Lord God the Sun looks down with his Sandman-encrusted morning eye and fumes at mess we've made of his wife, our Goddess Mother. And a moment longer, the image fades and it's just another sunrise, another clockwork miracle.