I woke up early this morning, about 6:30 or so, and after a bit of deliberation, I decided to throw a long sleeve shirt on and go outside to watch the sunrise and the moon set. I went out free from devices; my iPod, camera, ect. I considered taking one or the other to photograph what was taking place, but I decided to be solely an observer in the moment this morning.
The sky was mostly cloudless, just a few wispy, dusty-pink ribbons and veils towards the East, approximately where the sun was going to rise. The pink tint grew brighter and led on the deep orange, then yellow as the morning progressed. Yellow faded to gray for a time, the clouds almost blending in with the surrounding sky.
The moon, at my back, sank and dimmed as the sun's light gathered strength and intensity. I believe the two eventually met face to face, looking across from West to East, East to West, but I never actually saw and took note of that exact moment. The clouds were too low upon the mountains to really tell when the sun had fully emerged.
The grey of the clouds eventually gave way to seeping edges of streaky, roiling, waving white, as all things took on greater definition and stronger shadows. It was then that I left my spot on top of a large, particle-board coal box in the Southeastern field to grab a lawn chair and pick a spot on the North side of our home, where I could see the respective rebirth of the sun and impermanent death of the almost-full moon.
Seeping white became full, luminous white, and yellow waves travelled along the clouds directly above the mountains, framed by the treetops up the street.
The moon grew pale and paler, blending in light-gray with the sky as the clouds had during the transition from yellow to white.
Illuminated further by the rising sun, the clouds made imprints on my vision as I sat and watched, the morning cool comfortable through my clothing.
I ended up going inside before the sun had made it's full debut, but the patterns it left on the doorways and walls of our home were a quietly beautiful sight as well, and I checked on its continuous progress through windows for much of that early morning.
The sky was mostly cloudless, just a few wispy, dusty-pink ribbons and veils towards the East, approximately where the sun was going to rise. The pink tint grew brighter and led on the deep orange, then yellow as the morning progressed. Yellow faded to gray for a time, the clouds almost blending in with the surrounding sky.
The moon, at my back, sank and dimmed as the sun's light gathered strength and intensity. I believe the two eventually met face to face, looking across from West to East, East to West, but I never actually saw and took note of that exact moment. The clouds were too low upon the mountains to really tell when the sun had fully emerged.
The grey of the clouds eventually gave way to seeping edges of streaky, roiling, waving white, as all things took on greater definition and stronger shadows. It was then that I left my spot on top of a large, particle-board coal box in the Southeastern field to grab a lawn chair and pick a spot on the North side of our home, where I could see the respective rebirth of the sun and impermanent death of the almost-full moon.
Seeping white became full, luminous white, and yellow waves travelled along the clouds directly above the mountains, framed by the treetops up the street.
The moon grew pale and paler, blending in light-gray with the sky as the clouds had during the transition from yellow to white.
Illuminated further by the rising sun, the clouds made imprints on my vision as I sat and watched, the morning cool comfortable through my clothing.
I ended up going inside before the sun had made it's full debut, but the patterns it left on the doorways and walls of our home were a quietly beautiful sight as well, and I checked on its continuous progress through windows for much of that early morning.
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