Ode to a Late Summer Sunrise

Field Notes XVII: An exercise in descriptive writing and sunrise photography.

Welcome to this week’s edition of Field Notes!

I just returned from a 3 day backpacking trip in the Joyce Kilmer-Slickrock Wilderness in North Carolina. There is a lot to unpack and process from that trip, both in terms of photographs and reflecting on the experience. Look forward to that in the upcoming editions of Field notes!

This week, I’ve been sharpening my quill for a bit of descriptive/creative writing. I’m calling it ‘Ode to a Late Summer Sunrise.’ The time-lapse video is one of the sunrises that inspired it. The writing is not very long, and I hope you’ll give it a read. Below, I’ve included a couple of sunrise photos from the Athens, Ga area that I capture the sentiment.

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Clouds are scattered this morning. Dark and saturated in blue, they drift imperceptibly across the vast and open sky. Above the silhouetted tree line, they blush with a warmth of pinks and oranges, in excitement for the coming dawn. Embers of a re-kindling fire, starting to breathe new life. The heavens pale as the sun approaches.

Weeds have grown tall, but it is still too early for the goldenrod to bloom. An enticing crispness adorns the air’s lingering late summer heat. Dew has settled thickly on the grass, bending seed stems, and they waver in the subtle breeze. The musky, hay tinged odor of farm animals lurks like a ghost, making itself known only when attention is elsewhere. Bars on the gate of the cattle fence stand adorned with gravid water drops. They glisten like diamonds in the pre-dawn light before ripening and falling earthward, exhausted. Summer has grown old, but Autumn still hides in the leaves.

Crickets mourn the fading night with a cacophony of un-mowed fields. They pass on their tales of twilight to the crows, croaking solemnly from the branches. Those dark birds perpetuate the story of the rising day. A cyclical saga with endless variations, the narrative began before memory existed and continues to eternity.

The drama of dawn unfolds with a graceful slowness. It is a choreography of turning planets and stars and gravity that pulls us all into the dance. It displays itself in an exaltation of luminosity amid the sophisticated ancient fragrance of a late summer meadow.

The moment approaches when the sun crests the rim of the earth. The highest clouds glow with halos of fire. Gold and saffron are now backed by a deeper blue of the sky. Sunrise grows closer and the intensity builds. The light concentrates to a focused point where the clouds explode in radiant yellow-hued light. Brilliant points or orange erupt through gaps in the trees. Tyndall scattered crepuscular rays streak up and out. Now, the sun resolutely ascends from behind the dark treetops. It is a vision too painfully, beautifully bright to behold directly for more than a moment. The world is brushed in color, verdant green and the ochre of earth. The day has arrived.

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