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.


Sunday, July 31, 2011

summer sunrise on an island in Maine

I have posted two separate island sunrises today, one series above, one solo shot of the second one below.  They were taken somewhere around July 18th and the 21st.  Island time begins to run together, so you experience a blissful ignorance of things like time and dates.  The sun was rising in the vicinity of 5:05 - 5:10am during that period.

July ends today, so I thought I'd better get these two July sunrises on the books before I go to bed.

In spite of some wickedly hot, soul-dissolving weather over the last few weeks, I have also experienced a few of those quintessential summer days.  The clouds are high and puffy; the sun shines hot, but only hot enough to relax your whole body as you soak it in.  At certain times of day, the air feels so close to the temperature of your skin that you almost feel as though there are no boundaries between your flesh and the surrounding atmosphere.  Then a tiny, soft zephyr of breeze curls around you, caresses your arm, your face, and you just want to close your eyes and be.

That's what summer is supposed to feel like.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Hawaiian sunrise

It's been a while since we had a guest photo.  The Sunrise Blogger is very happy to add Hawaii to the sunrise collection:

Many thanks to a traveling cousin!

All of you summer travelers - get yourself out of bed early one day, and send in a photo to share (and maybe some thoughts as well).

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


sunrise:  5:02

It's nice to be back on the civilized side of 5am at last.  During these earliest sunrise days, I have generally decided to forego the alarm and let my body decide whether I should get up for dawn, thus the sparse entries.  On this muggy morning the early light called me out for a stroll.

If you are missing the dogs in my photos, so am I!  But the chance of stray barking at 5am still compels me to leave them indoors until a more reasonable hour.

Yesterday felt like the heart of summer to me.  J had a day off, S and T were both home, it was sunny and hot, and we went berry-picking.  We visited two different farms, about 8 miles outside of Bangor.  The four of us filled our boxes in very little time, on a quiet, late evening as the sun headed toward the western horizon.  There is something so satisfying in the feel of a perfect raspberry, its soft plumpness pulling off the center like a sleeve and dropping into your hand.  With strawberries it's more like the constant thrill of discovery.  You lift a wide-leafed jungle of greenery and find scarlet treasures hiding underneath, lit by the setting sun.

Eight quarts of strawberries and 4 quarts of raspberries are now in our kitchen -- well, slightly less than that, given the liberal consumption that went on during the drive home.

S is still looking for his post-college path, sending out job inquiries, writing letters, spending time both here at home and with his girlfriend in New York City.  N, in Boston, started a job this week in a science lab at a major hospital research center.  She, too, is living with her significant other.  I got to visit the two of them in their summer apartment during a follow up research trip of my own for my Rachel Field book.

I love sharing a little part of the odyssey upon which these young travelers have embarked.  Job searching, apartment hunting, setting up housekeeping, financial planning, sorting through the sea of paperwork that comes along with life, working out the ever-evolving complexities of relationship.  And then there are the less profound, but perhaps even more charming phone calls:

Do you put cumin in your spaghetti sauce?

How do I re-heat rice without a microwave oven?

How many scoops of coffee per cup?

It is both eye-opening and reassuring to realize how much they can still fill my heart and mind, even after launching into the world.

Today, too, I am wistful.  The bullfrogs bellow, the birds sing, the sun makes its uncompromising ascent, and I also know that across the country, a family that I love has been plunged into a renewed battle with cancer.  Of course I know these heartaches, hurts, fears, and wrenching struggles are happening everywhere, every day.  But... so is birth, and sunrise, and berries, jewel-like, ripening in their greenery and glowing a dazzling red in the low light of a summer evening.

Any time I really give it some thought, this world gives me a lump in my throat.