I've gotten increasingly fond of this time of day over the last year--I see so much of it, after all, waiting for the bus in the winter months. The sky was still inky in most places, there were a few stars, but in the east it was deep blue, fading through a gentle range of hues to aquamarine, with a tinge of dusty gold along the horizon.
I still love nightfall and dusk the best; the time of day that echoes the time of the world in my mind, and the light I've watched fade since my childhood. But there is something about the twilight before dawn, so gentle yet remote, cold, implacable, yet stirring. And inexorable in its advance.
By the time I got off the bus, I could look up and see my 21-floor work-building silhouetted against a sky the loveliest shade of cornflower blue--a blue mixed with milk and a careful dose of greyness. Bright yellow-white sky in the east, but still the dawn had not come.
Yes, I've gotten very fond of this time of day. Thank you, God, for the beauty of your creation!