Mornings these days—I don’t know what to tell you. They’re faulty. Tired, grumpy, too often marked by lingering (or the beginnings of new) sickness. And you can’t tell by looking, but I have three times now deleted a bunch of complaining about recent mornings. Maybe I'll just let you imagine.
Every morning though, we get one of these:
and it's always a little different, and mostly we see, and sometimes we share.
Sometimes the sun will pick a single ice blossom and take the time to light it up.
It always matters.