The way the light hits the hop cones at dawn

It’s 7:03 and the mist hasn’t lifted yet, but the sun’s just high enough to catch the resin on the newest clusters. They look like tiny amber eyes blinking open. I swear they’re more awake than I am. The kid’s out there already—half asleep in a flannel shirt, checking the moisture levels. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll spend the next hour trying to explain why this moment feels sacred. I don’t tell him. I just watch.