The rays of pink penetrating the dawn sky took away my breath. I took a picture, knowing they would last but a few moments.
For some reason, two-thirds of the way through summer, the sun, clouds, and sky collaborate to create living works of art.
Thick air greeted me as I stepped out of the house. Even though the sky was clear, no humidity had escaped overnight. The moon and a couple of planets hadn’t yet retired for the night. The birds had just begun to sing. The longer red and pink wavelengths stretched up from behind the trees, rewarding early morning walkers with a beautiful pallet of colors.
I’ve seen lots of pink dawn skies, but I’ve never seen this one. And I’ll never see it again.
Even the dogs noticed how loudly the birds were singing. The cardinals led today’s chorus, greeting the dawn with such enthusiasm that both dogs looked up with curiosity. I’ll bet they wondered, “Who else is up this early?” A few blocks away, mourning doves called back and forth. Bluebirds chirped from the overhead wires.
The air was still as the neighborhood came alive with sound. The smallest bit of orange tinted the eastern horizon. I saw one light in the sky, a planet. The stars had called it a night.
We left the house about 6 am. Lots of outdoor lights were on, but the insides of most of the houses were still dark. Less than a quarter mile down the road we pass a home that is bathed in blue light. Blue lights are on either side of the front door, line the driveway, and shine up into the trees. Yes, I can tell you support law enforcement.
We’ve walked a mile and a half before the first car passes, doing at least 50 on this long, straight stretch of road. Probably a preacher, anxious to get to church and practice his sermon. The truck that slowly pulls into a driveway is someone getting home from work. It’s tough to work an overnight shift.
Some people still have cans lying on the front lawn two days after trash collection. There are seven cars parked in a circular driveway in front of another home. They must have a lot of guests for the weekend. A pile of wood from a discarded fence is still piled on the curb. I wonder when someone will haul that away.
About forty minutes into our walk, we notice the squirrels and bunnies. I notice the blue, cloudless sky. When did daytime get here? When did the night sneak away? That moment is part of the magic of the dawn.
Now that I’m taking our dog out for a daily morning and evening walk, I’m not only getting a lot more steps in but I’ve discovered my love of sunrises and sunsets.
I love the walks that begin in the pre-dawn darkness and end in light. I also love the walks that I start before sunset and end in darkness. For some reason, I enjoy the transition from one state to another. As the sky brightens, I anticipate a new day. In the same way, as the night approaches, I’m acutely aware of the blessings I’ve experienced.
For instance, my early morning thoughts were all about going to church today. I was looking forward to special Christmas music today, and imagined what carols we might sing. In the evening, I thought about all the people I talked with today. I hadn’t spoken with some for over a year. It was so nice to catch up with each others’ lives.
It’s not always easy to time my walks for these moments. My dog Winston isn’t a morning person, and if I want to walk before dawn, I have to wake him up and lift him out of his cage to get him out the door. In the afternoon, he’s ready for his second meal of the day long before sunset, so I have to resist the “please feed me” look on his face about 4 pm.
The colors of sunrise and sunset aren’t visible any other time of the day. The mornings are filled with pinks, while oranges show up in the evening. Sometimes I try and take a picture of the dawn and dusk skies. The photos never seem to capture the hues that my eyes see on my morning and evening walks. It’s as if God is saying, “You can experience these colors, but you can’t capture them. Enjoy!”
In both the early morning and early evening, few cars drive by on our walks through the neighborhood. Many are still waking up to get ready for work of school. Later, they are gathering for supper. So we own the empty streets, walking right down the center, only listening for the newspaper delivery cars driving by.
Timing is everything. Right now, as the winter solstice approaches, sunrise is late while sunsets comes early. Summer is a different story. But don’t worry. I’ll be chasing them both.
Someone who didn’t think they’d live through the night might have written those words. Or someone who rarely woke before the sun was high in the sky. Or maybe someone for whom it seemed their world has come to an end.
That’s not why I wrote those words in my journal a few weeks ago. As I sat with my early morning cup of black and looked out over a series of hills stretching out into the distance, a tiny spark on the horizon caught my eye. There was no “smoke” on the Smokies this morning, giving me a rare chance to see the summer sunrise.
I watched as the painting in front of me changed before my eyes, like an artist retouching the colors on a canvas. In just a few minutes, that glint of orange grew to be the full orb on its way across the sky.
I figure I’ve actually lived through a little more than 22,500 sunrises in my life time. So I take them for granted. I never go to bed not expecting another. And I’m never disappointed. The next day always comes.
Maybe I shouldn’t take the sunrise for granted. Maybe you shouldn’t, either.
Someone who didn’t think they’d live through the night might have written those words. Or someone who rarely woke before the sun was high in the sky. Or maybe someone for whom it seemed their world has come to an end.
Waite for it... 