March moonrise

Now and then, we do best to bend the rules a bit.

It is clear to me, 27 months after completing my year of sunrise, that my inclination to post will far exceed my inclination to get up in time to see the dawn face to face, in the open air.  I haven't given up sunrise excursions, but even more, I haven't lost the enchantment of skywatching in general.

I had made a rule for myself - no blog post unless it included new sunrise photos.  But I will bend that rule, now and then, in order to share something I just had to show you.

March has always stood out to me as a month of inspiration.  In Maine, it is the ugliest month.  Today is the ugliest day - frozen drizzle, thick cloud cover, penetrating, damp chill, brown deadness over much of the earth.  And yet - anticipation is there, in the air, if you reach out to feel it with your heart and breathe it into your being.

Last night, just as twilight was fading, I headed outside with the dogs and saw the (nearly) full moon rising.  I cannot help but be stirred by that kind of suspended beauty.

figurative bursts of sunlight

sunrise:  6:01

My first burst of sunlight was T's return from California on Wednesday.  J had been out there with her for her last few days in LA, so I experienced my longest stretch ever living in an empty house (empty of humans, anyway).  So wonderful to have T's friendly face around again.  I have to share some non-sunrise photos of our beautiful hike up Gorham Mtn in Acadia National Park on Friday.

It was a gray Easter weekend up here in Maine.  There was little sun, even some spits of snow and drizzle.  J was working.  T planned to leave town  Saturday afternoon to visit friends and meet up with her three siblings in Boston (or so she said).  I figured I'd try and get a bunch of work done.  Whatever.

Then on Saturday morning - next burst of sunlight:   the three other siblings walked through the door.  Our four birdies were back in the nest!

I can't think of a greater surprise.  Happy mommy.

There's the whole gang out walking.  Isn't it strange?  To a passing stranger, it's just a group of walkers that you might not look twice at.  To me, it's my whole world.
 

We are a talky family.  We spent hours just hanging around the dinner table, or by the fire, or out walking, or playing games, and just talking about stuff - movies, politics, education, music, NPR podcasts, family, and telling stories.

Somehow, I think some of the best times are when everyone is just working or reading or playing the piano  on their own - sharing space.  It is peaceful.  All is right with the world.

First departure was at dawn this morning.  Another gray day, but with light in the heart.