Fog prolongs the dawn well past sunrise. How long will squirrels keep scolding after a cat has slunk away? Ten minutes and counting.
sunrise
January 11, 2023
Still air and a heavy frost. A pair of ravens fly side by side over the porch, one calling like a crow—falsetto—the other like a death rattle.
January 9, 2023
The ground is white again. Bright spots in the clouds that could be moon or dawn. The deep breathing of the pines.
January 8, 2023
Heavy gray sky. A screech owl’s descending quaver. And then it’s sunrise, according to my phone and the crows.
January 6, 2023
A few flakes of snow. Valley sounds eddy on the wind. The sun makes an appearance among the ridgetop trees.
January 5, 2023
Fifteen minutes after sunrise, the cloud-lid lifts, and a bright seam appears above the horizon. A white-throated sparrow sings two notes and stops.
December 29, 2022
Sunrise stains the western ridge barn-red as the dawn chorus of crows rises to a cacophony. High in a walnut tree, a squirrel is licking its genitals.
December 28, 2022
Thin clouds at sunrise with the blue just visible, like faded jeans. A crow has a brief exchange with his echo.
December 27, 2022
Heavily overcast at sunrise, which I’m taking on faith. The sound of a Carolina wren hopping across the porch roof.
December 12, 2022
Heavily overcast sunrise; the only faint color comes from the ground. The great-horned owl falls silent as a nuthatch begins to call.
December 5, 2022
Cold and still. Dove wings accompany a train whistle. A red sunrise creeps down the western ridge.
December 4, 2022
Still haunted by dreams I can’t remember when the sun clears the ridge and sets the clouds of my breath aglow.
November 29, 2022
Heavily overcast at sunrise; only the ground glows a faint pink, thick with rain-slick leaves. A screech owl trills.
November 26, 2022
A close shot echoes off the ridge—it’s the opening day of regular firearms deer season. The sun moves slowly through the trees, dimming, blazing.