I normally wake at dawn when a rising orange glow begins to outline the mountains to the east dissipating the deep velvet blue of the night above them. It is a spectacle that, each morning, evokes for me Edward Fitzgerald's lines from his first version of Omar Khayyham:
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultán's Turret in a Noose of Light.
This morning when I woke though, the sun had already risen a little above the mountains and was shining more or less horizontally onto me, giving my leaf canopy something of a stained glass effect which I would have liked to have captured in a photograph but I did not have my camera by me and the rising sun waits for no one; in no more than a few seconds the moment had, like all others, passed.