When I lived for several months in France as the guest at a large walled-in Chateau estate, I enjoyed early morning walks through the forest, the formal gardens, and a secret garden. As the sun rose filtering its light through the forest, the trees looked as though someone burned the tree-tops with millions of sparklers. I began to understand why the French Impressionists were so in awe of light and color.
This pastel is from one of those early morning walks.
I might add that my early morning walks lit some fireworks in the room where Carl and Nick slept, the ever so patient security guards. So focused on the how the sun washed the tree- tops with fire, I repeatedly crossed the infrared security line set the night before because previous intruders climbing over the walls, I set off the alarm bells and whistles jarring the sleeping Carl and Nick awake. Oblivious to the commotion in their office, I wandered on through the gardens, until the walkie/talkie I had to carry came to buzzed. (Because the Chateau had 100 rooms and the grounds were expansive we had to communicate via walkie-talkies.) I clicked on, “good morning.” I heard, Carl here, You again forgot to warn us when you are out walking so early.”
Good thing there were no dungeons.