As dawn touches pink the ancient crowns of temples around us, devotees wiping sleep from their eyes, some with wet hair from early ablutions, and maybe a dozen local Vrajbasis huddle under blankets and chadars, Prabhupada taps the microphone, clears his throat, and speaks…Little wisps of vapor emerge from his mouth as the sun slowly illumines his body and, as the air warms, he sheds his wrap. We’re transported back to that splendid morning of creation, when everything was new, sinless, and sparkling with possibility.