morning becomes jacinta

I was up before dawn, on my patio chair, a hot water bottle nestled behind my back, a serape across my lap, hot coffee in hand, facing west toward the San Jacintos. As the sun rises, it strikes the highest ridges first bathing them in pearly pink, dropping down the flanks in stages, each lower ridge back-lit by the one behind it. I'm not in my usual seat and it hasn't gone unnoticed. The tiny Beewick's Wren keeps one eye on me as he searches the adjacent shrub for his breakfast. He drops his shoulder and slides between leaves entering the bush's dark interior, keeping a running commentary going in my direction.
I've alrady scanned the front page of the paper, reporting a 4.8 quake centered under Bombay Beach on the Salton Sea. I heard it yesterday morning gently shaking the sliding door by my bed. Apparently there has been a recent swarm of small quakes on the San Andreas as it slides beneath the Salton Sea. The last really big quake in the Coachella Valley, estimated as 7.5-8.0 occurred in 1700, so we are long overdue. One more reminder -- savor the coffee, listen to the birdsong, enjoy the morning...
I write every day, usually in the morning, in black gel ink in a black journal, writing letters to friends. It has occurred to me that in my letters, recording as I do my daily thoughts and observations, that I have been a blogger for years, but on paper. So, I'll try a new medium. I wonder if the letters will continue or if this will suffice. Surely my friends will miss my little drawings, the weight of the paper, the ritual of opening an envelope, the evidence of rain or coffee or wine dried upon it. I wonder if I will be able to sense an audience as I do when I write to certain friend. I wonder if anyone will ever read this.
The sublime rosy light has transformed to yellowish-white and a fine blue sky, "bluer than robin's eggs" in the words of Joan Baez, stretches over all. Perhaps I'll find myself humming "Diamonds and Rust" as I go about my day.