The morning air was misty and chill. I loaded my belongings into my car, and kissed my mother goodbye. Monday morning--back to YWAM, back to work. The grey darkness of a morning long before sunrise shrouded the trees and the creek that burbled alongside the house. I looked at the clock. I was late. So I sped through the grey washed countryside, trying to catch up to 5:15am.

And then there he was. Waiting for me at the top of the hill, sat my prince. Together, we watched the sunrise. Together, we listened to the birds sing gustily of spring and love, and together we sighed each time another minute ticked by.

The sunrise was clear golden that shouldered away the heavy charcoal sky. Clouds lit like torches. Mist spiraled into the sky like winter wood smoke. Our cold hands held on tightly to each other. No matter how hard we wished that the sun could pause, that the clocks would just be patient and let us be, time refused to halt.

Goodbyes are dreary.

Photo from: http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/k/ks/ksvignette/950782_sunrise_over_the_fields_.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.sxc.hu/photo/950782&usg=__On4BsZLqGc3CalOEhPucxQqtpis=&h=207&w=300&sz=15&hl=en&start=7&sig2=tnTIWfcG6q0GfqIo21W7cA&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=0-ChB87mIuqf-M:&tbnh=80&tbnw=116&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dsunrise%2Bover%2Bfields%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dsafari%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Den%26tbs%3Disch:1&ei=-NXVS7DkLMH58AbH082jDw