A continuation of the journey that began on January 1, 2010, recorded in "a year of getting up to meet the day." After 365 consecutive sunrise outings in that year, I couldn't bear to give up the dawn. This blog (no longer daily) will be informed and inspired by the rising light of the morning sun.


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

reflections of a year

(Christmas cactus blooming, right on time)

It's hard to believe that almost a year has passed since I completed my year-long sunrise marathon.  Life is unfolding in a satisfactory way, and I deeply appreciate the occasional morning indulgence of lounging under the covers until 9 or 10 o'clock in the morning.

And yet...those days out in the morning sun left an indelible impression.  About once every week or two I feel a stir of longing for that quiet, anticipatory time of day, when the world hangs in suspension.  Everything and anything feels somehow, possible.

It's also a lot easier when the sun is rising at 7am...

(I like this look - the blaze of the sun is the heart, the core of this growing tree...)

Sunday, December 18, 2011

it's summer in patagonia

My daughter finished a semester in Argentina a year ago by traveling around Patagonia in December - the early days of summer in the southern hemisphere.  She just sent these photos of a mountain sunrise.

As we enter the darkest days of the year, I hope you all enjoy the promise of sunrise, and the growing light ahead.

And also - for some lighthearted joy, here is a link to a celebratory video that should make you smile:


Monday, December 12, 2011

moon over ice

Dec 11, 2011

Maybe it's the moon.  Maybe that feathery, fluttery feeling of anticipation is incited by the full moon's tugging at our insides.  In any case, it has been with me since about 5:00 yesterday evening.

I was visiting an artist's studio on a remote hilltop in Maine.  The sun was setting as we arrived, J. and I, and the vista was stunning - the sharp winter angles of sunset light, punctuated by lifelike outdoor sculptures of wildlife in motion, in bronze.

When I emerged an hour later from the studio and climbed a hill to the parking area, I found myself under a vast bowl of sky space - 360 degrees of twilight.  To the west, the final, deep orange dregs of sunset hung over the horizon.  To the east was the perfect white globe of a full moon rising.

I knew that I would see that same moon at the other end of its arc in the morning.  My 6am walk was long before the sun's arrival in this dark time of year.  The up side of that was that the moon's brilliance remained undiminished.  The dogs and I walked through a wash of milky moonlight casting shadows as we traversed the fields.

It just about took my breath away - the moon's gleaming path across new ice on the pond.  The back field, covered in a mosaic of snow patches, sparkled with captured moonlight.

You just never know how exquisite it might feel to get up for an early bus on a Sunday morning in December.

sun coming up, from the bus window--

Friday, December 2, 2011

sunrise at the end of november

Just a quick post to share some photos --

These are from November 30th.  The snow is gone; the pond has unfrozen, but it has a strangely thick and wobbly surface on ice cold mornings, almost like it's beginning to gel.  Could be my imagination at work...

I can't believe it has been almost a year since I completed my "year of getting up to meet the day."  Time barrels along, and I wonder why I haven't accomplished more.  Still - I've written 56 weekly columns.  Not too bad.

Now I just have to get that book in higher gear.  Rachel Field's life is moving forward on the page, but I wish it would emerge more quickly!

Happy December to all.