Many mornings are the same:  A hint of light behind the black silhouette of the Catalinas and, higher, Venus suspended brightly in the dark clear sky just before daybreak.  But some mornings are different this December.  One morning the sky behind the still dark mountains seemed cloudless but in the half-light before sunrise it glowed with an almost fluorescent sheen, an amalgam of silver, salmon, champagne and light lavender, suggesting the thin transparent veil of cirrostratus cloud.  There are also the few times altocumulus clouds make their appearance like ploughed fields rippling across the sky, glowing orange, red and pink at sunrise.  This month we had storms rolling in from California.  They brought lenticular clouds, wave crests stacked one upon the other, breaking over the mountain peaks. One morning I was up a little earlier than usual; just after 5:00am.  Standing in the driveway where I had just picked up the morning paper I looked out across the dark sky enjoying the morning stillness before the start of another day, when a meteor, suddenly appeared, tracing a long arc down towards the north-west horizon:  One of the Geminids no doubt, offspring of the 3200 Phaethon Comet but, for me, a shooting star, a spark of the divine.