The sunrise yesterday morning, and each morning in Santa Fe, was brilliant and colorful, and back at home, this morning’s sunrise is equally beautiful but coming up over a different mountain. Santa Fe had long mountain ranges and plateaus of purples and blues; my distant mountain is socked in with fog, making it a grayish blue against a warm yellow sky.

An adobe fireplace is warming me on this chilly morning as I sit in my room, smelling burning mesquite wood, hearing the crackling embers, and staring sleepy-eyed at the brown adobe walls, the dark, carved wooden doors, and photos of Native Americans in ceremonial clothing.

Tweeting took on its original meaning as I awoke to the golden orange sunshine, which places a rim of intense light around the edges of my scrub oaks this morning. The weeds, bushes, and tall grasses are glowing like fire.

Peaceful? Not exactly how I’d describe what I was thinking might be a quiet morning. The roar of passing cars fills the air, road rage with someone laying on the horn for what seemed like a full minute, and some muffled sounds of obscenities screamed out a car window. I thought that even Philadelphia would be immune to noise this early. I was wrong.

Today’s brilliant cobalt blue sky is filled with big, puffy clouds, dark on the bottom and rim-lit with yellow sunrise light. Tiny feather-like light green leaves are showing up on the bare branches, and blossoms of pink and white are filling my favorite tree. Birds are chirping out “Spring is in the air!” and I’m finally able to get back to my porch without a blanket or sweater. Soon bluebonnets will fill nearby farmers’ fields, seducing me and my easel.

The small sound of pellets of rain has turned into a roar, louder and louder as the rain hits the tin roof in my art studio, where I sit this morning.