Dawn? A prompt about dawn? I am a certified night owl. Dawn, in my opinion, is a myth. However, there are days that I am forced from my cozy bed before the sun peeks over the horizon, and I must admit, it is a magical time. Dorothea MacKellar calls it a “daily miracle” in her poem, and she is right in many ways. If I must do dawn, I prefer the summer, when the air is fresh and warm, the trees green and lush, and the Chattahoochee River runs full. It is the best time of day because the heavy moist air is still a promise, like an anticipated hug. The Southern heat is hours away, and the day beckons, unscheduled and full of possibilities. Winter dawns are barren and cold without the reflective sparkle of ice or snow. Spring dawns are unpredictable: cold this day, rainy this day, and always filled with some pollen or other. Autumn dawn is nearly as magical as summer. The sun hangs lower in the Southern sky. Deer still watch from their hiding places in the trees. The colors of the leaves reflect a sunset that comes earlier every day. But for me, Autumn means an end to summer adventure, a return to routine, and a reminder that Winter, barren and dreary is soon returning.