Musings of a roaming nature nerd


One of the first sunrises I remember was on my first international flight with my family. The sky darkened, but the curve of the earth never quite stopped glowing between sunset and sunrise. My small adolescent reality gained new perspective on the world as I peered at the horizon, glowing dark blue and red and endless. Several years later, across the ocean again, my best friend and I sat in the cool sand and watched a faint, silvery, pink sunrise emerge over the Adriatic Sea off the Italian coast. A quiet, contrasting closure to the night before. Though rather subdued as sunrises go, it meant so much to share the night’s fading and the world’s reawakening with someone so special.

The sun has risen for my husband and me over the years too. New England’s rocky coast, sandy islands in warm Florida waters, glowing red rocks of the Southwest have hosted the sun’s first rays.  We have felt warmth and relief creeping into our frost filled tent on chilly mornings. We have greeted the sun with coffee in hand, mountains in our gaze, boots on the trails, and sometimes just tired eyes and bodies ready to crawl into bed. The tenor of sunrise resonates quietly in my heart and my memories.

Now, more often than not, I watch the sunrise alone. Already on the job, staying focused, listening, watching for faint fluttering movement. As the season began I anticipated the potential for this meaningful moment to drift into banality. But every sunrise still compels me to pause. It has not become run-of-the-mill, just another part of the job.  Dawn’s glow crescendoing slowly and brilliantly to the eventual cresting of light over the horizon fills me with joy and contentment of a most sincere and calming kind. These months of early waking provide opportunity to tune into the world’s natural cycle and ground me to the earth, to myself, to my memories and to a future filled with sunrises.


Cibola Sunrise


Yuma Marsh Sunrise


Kofa Sunrise


Laguna Dam Sunrise


Anza-Berrego Sunrise


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