There have been very few times in my life that I wished I was a poet, but this morning's jog through Sefton Park was one of them. Here is the prose version.
The sun was still below the horizon as the tops of the trees on Greenbank Drive caught the first golden rays of sunshine.
Ahead the clouds were a wonderful study of grey and blue hues, while to the south east, the sky was a blaze of golden yellow.
Further into the park and there was the sun, a yellow globe sitting on the horizon, visible behind the yellow sheen and the branches of the bare trees.
At the top end of the park the path is wide, and the balustrade low, but even so its shadow reached the full width of the path, while I and all around me were bathed in beautiful light.
The sun, still gentle on the eyes behind the sheen was now a white globe, sitting low but now detached from the horizon.
Not yet completed, the upper floor flats on my home stretch will afford their future residents a sunlit breakfast.
Sorry, but I don't take a camera with me when I am jogging.
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