sunrise in late october

Sun rise in late October is a gift – it happens now around seven am, giving the chance to wake up at a perfectly reasonable hour and still feel as though you’ve snuck upon something exquisite, unblemished. The world is already happening at four am in July – the robins seem as though they’re having mid-morning tea by that time. We feel we've already got to catch up a bit. But now, it’s just a solitary crow, or jay, who to me touch the small sharpness, the caution, the mystery, of an owl’s hoot. Crows fit into the veil-time, and though their call to some is grating, it doesn’t split the dawn. It coats it, if anything.

This morning, waking to the opening gray light, I felt myself padding slowly to the kitchen, without realizing why. I felt I was about to catch something. And I had the distinct feeling it was Christmas morning. That I was before the morning, and therefore knew something spectacular was about to happen. Come December, of course, there will be a deeper quiet and, I hope, blankets of still snow. That is what affords these fall mornings a special secret joy – there is still noticeable color and life. When the sun rises it glorifies still-gold maples, and makes the oaks and beeches glow amber. The geese are moving and some hardy ones persist in the garden. There is yet a pulsing in fall, cheerful activity, though you can feel the gentle slowing.

And perhaps that's it, that's the delight and ease that comes with these risings. Now, more than before, we are with the season. We come to life with the dawn and the world, and perhaps it is easier to feel attuned. I suppose there are more summery folks out there, who rise chirping and fluttering. It may be a constitution sort of thing, but I think it's more than that. There is a mystery to late fall mornings, a quieting, that feels like a storyteller has begun to whisper. There is a twinkle in her eye, and you have to still yourself -- lean in close... closer to hear the secret revealed. 

It is tantalizing, but also gentle and kind, that we don’t come to a halt, but get to turn around a bit and listen closely before settling down. And wake up to the careful dawn.