Thursday morning, 5:25, my alarm went off. It’s a disturbingly cheerful sound my phone (which doubles as my alarm clock) makes. I don’t know what could be so great about waking up early that my phone has to crow about it, but it does work. I get up, shut it off and stand in the middle of the room rubbing my eyes.

Then I remember; sunrise. It’s waiting for me, there, right over there, on Art Hill. And it will be spectacular.

I got over to the Park (Forest Park, of course; America’s premier urban park) early enough that there wasn’t even a hint the Earth has a sun. The upper Muny parking lot puts out enough light all night long to light another planet or two, and around the rest of the park, the lurid orange of the sodium vapor lights tainted the pristine colors of nature.

It was chilly, and acted as if it were going to rain: I actually thought about going home and going back to sleep.

“Carpe Diem.” I told myself and pointed the wheel of my Powerful Luxury Automobile (my congressman called it a “clunker”) toward Art Hill. It was next to the Zoo, close to the 1904 flight cage that I saw the mink scamper across the street. It ran from one culvert to another in less time than it takes to say “Read my lips; no new taxes.” It had already disappeared when the thrill of recognition ran through me. I’d finally seen a mink in the park (I’ve been hearing they were here for some time now)! I had a brief sighting of what I think was the Forest Park Beaver back in May, but, alas, he met an untimely death at the hands of a trapper, and now his glossy pelt adorns a wall in the offices of Forest Park Forever.

On to the sunrise. I know it is a daily occurrence, but this one surely exceeded the quotidian (Yea!). Take a look. This is definitely rosy-fingered dawn hitting a homer.