Something wakes me. An ephemeral and invisible 'finger' pokes me. Eyes snap open and see the faint glow out the window over the foot of the bed. Cold grips me as I slither out from the heap of covers. The travel trailer is cold, an absence of heat that stings. 

Limbs, trunk and head are quickly encased in anything warm I can find in the dark. My 'third eye' head lamp adorns the fleece cap covering my ears. I grab the camera and the tripod and escape out the door after the dog. Carefully placing my booted feet on the dark path and in between thick thorny leaves, I carry my burden out near the fire pit and the end of the Homestead Point. 'Hurry, hurry! The light changes fast!', I berate myself. 

Flimsy tripod legs finally shoved into the ubiquitous gravel and the quick-release mount locked onto the tripod, I push the button to power up the camera. There. 

There it is. Fire in the sky, fire over the mountains. Fire in my soul. Warm me. Fill me, and make me yours. I give myself to thee; these flames of light and color. The marriage of mountains and flaming sky captivates me; I want to make it mine, yet share it with the rest of the world. 

At that moment I am alone without recognition of the ground under my feet, the cold on my skin, the vapory warm moisture of my breath as I exhale. I watch the world and the day unfold before me; in isolation, silence and thought. I hang onto the last of it as the glow brightens into light and the rest of the world around me takes form. Movement. Sound. The desert slowly comes alive. And I want to fade into the mountains to rise again with the next sunrise.

But then turning west, I see the remnants of the night. The full moon hovers over the ridge, refusing to leave and emitting its own soft pink glow. Smiling, I face east and then west. Here is the yin and the yang, the duo of night and day. Each with their own beginning and end. Together.  They become one. And I, in the middle.