Putting Sunrise to Bed

All morning I’m memorizing every detail. The sky flooded with color, the breaking of day. The clouds forming in fire and then slipping back into themselves. 

I want to remember the sound of the pika, the way the rocks and dirt and sand feel under my boots. There is the way the red huckleberry glows from the inside, like a smoldering fire. 

All kinds of yes. 

I smell the smoke and see the layers of haze woven into the skyline and across nameless peaks in the distance. 

I’m committing to memory the grace and speed with which the Cascade silver fox moves through the meadow. Tail fluffed, muscles fluid. 

I’m thinking of tree bark and the smell of sub-alpine fir. If I rub a sprig of it between my thumb and index finger, the fragrance of it lingers. A dab behind the ear is better than anything that comes in glass. This .. this is alive. I breathe deep and it fills my lungs. 

I know what it is to see color drain from the sky. And I know, too, what it is to see it bleed back into the landscape and be transformed. It’s never barren here, just asleep. A season of rest.

And a season of rust too. Orange, yellow and gold. Even dying things are beautiful here. 

I want to remember this breeze as it catches my hair .. my steady breathing, my quickening heart.

The chipmunks. The deer. The birds.  

The benchmark. And broken things.

Time to say goodbye for now. 
Deep bow to Sunrise. 

Until next summer, rest easy.

23 Comments on “Putting Sunrise to Bed

    • Thanks, Crystal. One of my favorite things is draining the color from an image. I’m a “touchy-feely” type and I love, even the idea, of texture. Without too much color, your eye is drawn to the edges and it’s easier to imagine being there. (Although there is something to be said for “kicking up the vivid” in an image too) 😉

  1. Thank YOU, for coming along. When I consider dying and endings I am reminded of a line shared by Maezen: “Nothing is lost, but all is transformed”. And so it is that we graciously witness these dramatic changes with a sense of awe. Cheers to loving all of it*

  2. That Cascadian silver fox is so beautiful. Appears to be all fluffed up for the Westminster Kennel Club showing, but somehow, he does this on his own in the wild. Happy that your last Sunrise of the year was so gorgeous.

    • Oh, yes, that fox is just fabulous. Such a joy to be able to watch it practically float across the meadow. I really lucked out with sunrise too. A lovely send-off.

  3. That’s it. I’m moving in with you. And then I’m going to follow you around wherever you go so I can see what you see. Bookmark this post for yourself so you can keep coming back to it all winter. I’ll do that too.

    • Haha. I have to agree that I see some really cool things in the world. It’s like a reward for my attentiveness and I’ll never take it for granted. I like the idea of revisiting this post over the winter and spring. I hope every little thing thrives.

  4. Beautiful words to match the stunning images. Thanks for sharing. I have never seen a black fox, what a treat!

    • Thanks so much, Jocelyn. There are two foxes I’ve seen there. This guy is just beautiful and looks really healthy.

You know I'd love to hear from you !