April 11: Frost

over the mountain 

in time to melt the frost

rising sun

March 14: Grasslands sunrise

greeting the sunrise

with a much louder welcome

soaring raven

January 27: Fox sunrise

Fox barking at dawn

leaves another line of tracks

across the snowy lawn. 

January 25: Sunrise

Breath-taking sunrise—

if I have to be awake,

at least there’s that.

January 3: Moonset

Sky flushed with sunrise.

Behind the retirement home

setting moon still bright. 

January 16: Calm seas

Sunrise, MLK Day--

waves off the point

practicing non-violence.

Posted with Blogsy

September 24: Island sunrise

Spruce tops become torches

lit by rising sun,

nuthatches the alarm.

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February 2: Brigid's Day

Awake at sunrise

horizon's inspiring glow

sparking too many thoughts.

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October 14: Sunrise

Red sky in morning,

and three planets still high, bright--

there's hope for us yet.

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December 15: December sunrise

Spent the day birding the beaches, salt marshes, and nearby neighborhoods of Ogunquit and Wells for the York County Christmas Bird Count. We began the day with a beautiful sunrise over the ocean at Moody Point, where dozens of sandpipers twinkled at the edge of the chilly surf...

 

Sunrise over the beach--

at the sandy edge

one frozen raspberry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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September 25: And sunrise

Monhegan sunrise--

the day begins with beauty

and small birds flying.

 

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September 3: Steamy morning

Mist-shrouded sunrise--

I listen to crickets

by the bedroom window.

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February 16: Sunrise

Thanks to social media, we were able to see a friend's photo of this morning's bright sunrise while the skies over here on the back side of Mount Battie were still dim and gray. However, as we drove out of town shortly thereafter, we managed to catch a quick glimpse of the rising red orb itself and a pink flush spreading through the sky, over the bay... before it all disappeared behind the trees.

A look so intense,
I have to turn away.
Red sun rising.

February 16: Sunrise

The Rotary club I belong to meets on Thursday mornings, a breakfast club. I'm not a morning person, so it's always a challenge for me to get up for these meetings. The camaraderie and the hearty breakfast make it worthwhile once I get there, but that first half-hour each Thursday as I try to get out of the house on time is usually a sluggish one.

What perks me up, however, is a glimpse of the rising sun on my way into town. This morning I was still in a daze as I drove in for the meeting, but when I crested the hill on Washington Street where one finally gets a view of the harbor, the rosy sky glowed so beautifully that I caught my breath.

Worth getting up for--
stirring light show of today's
rosy-fingered dawn.

December 14: Sunrise

This morning the sun officially rose at 7:04 a.m. EST. Our house faces east, but because the craggy bulk of Mount Battie looms right out our front windows, we don't normally see the actual sun till a few hours after it comes up. So  I was surprised today to pull up the kitchen blind and get a face full of sunshine. There was the rising sun, peeking around the corner of Mount Battie. A rare sight, indeed, even if I were an early riser. With a week to go till the Winter Solstice, the sun tracks a low arc in the sky these days. We'll enjoy less than 9 hours of sun today. To counter any bleak thoughts of the diminishing light, a crisp blue sky offers a welcome change from last night's rain. Enjoy the light on your face while you can.

I learned from www.americancatholic.org that it's the saint day of St. John of the Cross, patron saint of mystics, about which Thomas Merton had this to say: "Just as we can never separate asceticism from mysticism, so in St. John of the Cross we find darkness and light, suffering and joy, sacrifice and love united together so closely that they seem at times to be identified."


Also, this quotation from John himself:

"Never was fount so clear,
undimmed and bright;
From it alone, I know proceeds all light
although 'tis night."

I'm not Catholic, although I'm married to one (which is one step closer to playing one on TV). But I welcome spiritual enlightenment and knowledge from all sources, including Catholic mystic poets. St. John of the Cross conveys so well the essence of this season, when we must learn to embrace both light and dark as the nights lengthen, sacrifices of all kinds--as well as love--as we plan for the holidays, and cold and warmth as we endure the variable weather.  He's speaking of the light of his Christian God, of course, but we may also read his words as referring to the sun, one of the original gods, the true center of our solar system from which "proceeds all light" even if our part of the planet doesn't happen to be facing it at just this moment. 


A week from Solstice.
Sun peeks around the mountain--
hopeful morning light.