Painted by Sunrise

A few weeks ago Len surprised me with a dozen garnet-red roses for my birthday. Their velvet petals—tight like cabbage leaves—were held close to their vest, trying to conceal their exotic, spicy scent, but it escaped anyway.

Several days later I was sitting in our living room waiting for the sun to wake its sleepy head. Before I knew it, its golden fingers had reached through the window and painted the now-unfurled, fragrant bouquet.

When was the last time you were painted by the sunrise?