I want to experience saffron mornings. The kind of mornings that are scarce like saffron. 

They are the mornings when in the mist rolling over the lace-frosted meadows, the sound of awakening life carries into into distance crisp and clear, although almost nothing can be seen. Life is often a mist. There is little to navigate in it with the senses alone. We must listen to the sound of our soul’s call. To make the contours more distinct, we must step out. They become more obvious to us with each step, but again, only for a few steps. 

If you’re on a hill, sometimes you are lucky and experience an inversion… what should be up, is down and you’re above the clouds, yet firmly rooted in the ground. The sky is blue and you are setting your face to the generous rays of the sun. This is a saffron morning. There, in the ground lands, there is gloom and mist and discomfort but you have a sea of clouds beneath your feet and you can see clear and far…