I'm not usually a fan of the color pink. My decorating choices include lots of earth tones-- browns and reds and olive colors-- that leave no room for even a hint of fairer shades. This morning, however, I was struck speechless by the pepto-pink brilliance of the Atlanta sunrise. Morning deep still shadowed the interstate skyline in a hazy grey, but behind the dark trees rose splashes of color I haven't thought about since I last dressed a Barbie doll. The flamingo-feather sky softly reminded me of how very glad I am that God rules the world. If I picked out the earth's color scheme, I would've never wanted anyone to see such a garish shade before 8 o'clock in the morning. But there it was, spread out for all the urban sprawl to see on their eastward commute. It spoke forth a glory beyond any of the splendored palaces of this world. As the Psalmist wrote: "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words, whose voice is not heard." Someone once told me that smog-- the vile haze that hangs over the city like a curse-- is necessary for such beauty. It is air pollution-- all those particles in the air-- that allows us such sunrises. I am thankful, then, that even city smog can speak.