It’s pretty well documented that I’m not a morning person. And by “not a morning person”, I mean that if I was given the choice between of getting up in the God-forsaken morning or having to fend off an attack by a large, organized pack of ravenous canines indigenous to Austrailia with nothing but a gym sock and a tree branch, I’d happily fight off the dingoes every day of the week and twice on Sunday.
Occasionally though, you get a tiny little reward for doing something you hate more than that dentist with the Ken-doll hair and the sadistic grin. This morning I got mine, one of downright purtiest sunrises I think I’ve ever seen. I snapped of picture of it while I was waiting to exit the expressway which, at that particular moment this morning, was anything but express (as it typical of my morning commute. See? Mornings are just evil).
The picture, even with my new-fangled fancy camera phone, doesn’t quite do it justice, but I think this is enough to give you the general idea.
Was this sunrise beautiful? Yes, absolutely. The pinks and purples were nearly breathtaking.
But still, I think I’d have rather been in bed.