Driving my middle son home from football practice Tuesday night, the sun set spurring him to utter: Red skies at night, sailors delight.
Soon the moon – in its waxing gibbous phase – rose over the horizon.
This morning as I drove my oldest son to cross-country practice at the local ski hill, we watched the sun's rays burst through the mist.
Along with two other moms, I walked to the hill's crest with the team on their warmup.
Awestruck by beauty, I mentally sang: "The hills are alive with the Sound of Music" –– thankful for my sons' sporting activities taking us outside to witness changes from dusk to dawn.
