From the dust of dawn to the remains of the day

Sometimes the beauty of the day means that despite the grind of work; despite awful news from Iraq and Gaza and a sense of forboding as events in Kenya unfold, my spirit feels lighter.
Today was crisp and bright and glorious. Red sunrise behind the alps reflected on the snow-topped Jura in the morning, sharp-angled sunlight through the stained glass in the chapel and everything simply glorious. As I walked across the park to the bus in the evening the sunset glowed deep purple behind the bare black winter trees. A perfect winter day.
I don't often feel a sense of glory like this. Beauty and light in the midst of the humdrum. Such days are a blessing. Just now and again the "dust of dawn" can lift you for the whole day.
And the dust of dawn is translated from Francine Carillo's lovely book of weekly meditations "Vers l'inépuisable" mind you la poussière de l'aube sounds rather better than dust of dawn doesn't it. And I'm still not sure whether she intends it as a synonym for Christ, hmm interesting idea.
So no photos of today, sometimes the pictures are better on the radio than in reality.