There is a reason, in addition to witnessing the sunrise, that inspired us to plan another early weekend rising, and perhaps I’ll go into it in another post. For now though, I’ll share that our idea for this past Saturday involved a five-fifteen get up, followed by a drive one town over to watch the dawn. There, we situated ourselves on the rocky peninsula called Lighthouse Point, elated at the discovery of an unexpected bonus. While a color-washed sky over the ocean announced the day's birth, behind us the harvest moon lowering itself over a boat-filled harbor communicated the end of night. “Which way do we look?” my husband and I crowed to each other. Both.
Last week, watching sunrise at a beach in our own town, we were alone in our mission, other than one late arrival who plunked herself down with her coffee just as the sun cracked the horizon. This week, we weren’t even the first to arrive. For the full hour we wandered, drinking up the changes to a feather-washed sky, folks tiptoed up to take pictures or to stand, worshipful in their viewing. Two men clambered up on the jetty carrying fishing poles. Equipment-laden boats muttered on their way out of the harbor, trundling toward the morning catch.
My camera, mounted on a tripod, set to “Intelligent Auto” informed me each time I depressed the shutter that it would take multiple shots, so I came home with over three-hundred. There’s a lot of culling to do. But, back home as I viewed the photos, I experienced one overpowering thought. Maybe it's a no-brainer to others, but it was huge to me.
Dawn is our blessing. And, it’s offered to us, every, single day.
|Mr. Middle Passages gets credit for this beauty above.|