For whatever reason, the first sliver of light this morning drew me out of bed to skulk about the dark house, peeking out the windows.
When I was 16 I remember waking in the middle of the night to discover the small bathroom window was perfectly framing a bright and fat full moon. The thrill of quietly sitting in the dark shooting what turned out to be hopelessly fuzzy pictures stays with me even now.
Above is just before 6:00 a.m. from my couch. Over the next few minutes the small patch of light began to throw wonderful colors into the clouds.
I can't frame a full moon in the bathroom window anymore, partly because of the glass in the windows and partly because they face southeast. This means the sunrise is angled into the waves of glass, though, so there are some fascinating colors to be captured here. I kept waiting for a bleary-eyed Bob to come stumbling in asking what in the heck I was doing in the dark, standing in the shower with my camera. (Didn't happen. Sleeps like the dead, remember?)
Looking west out of the guest bedroom window, the light is still that deep morning blue.
But if you check from Sammi's room on the other side, more northwest in angle, you can see the sunrise is about to take over the sky. Luckily, Sammi is spending the night at a friend's, so I didn't have to step over her on her bed to get the shot.
Looking directly downward from her window is the darkness of the backyard.
Couch check, circa 6:15
By this time, Evan is growing weary of being patient, so we step outside and I spot the clouds getting ready to put on a show.
The above is looking to the right from the back deck. To the left, the waning moon kept watch on the clouds as well. My deck lizard seems to be staring up at the moon himself.
Back to the couch, 6:30.
Faith has taken up residence on the back of the couch to watch the sunrise herself, so if you note a dark blob here, that's her.
One last look to the west. The noise of the screen in these shots annoys me. However, balancing that against the annoyance Bob would have in trying to put the screens back in place constrains me from trying to pop them out.
There is something deeply satisfying about greeting the sunrise alone in a darkened house, in your pajamas and bare (cold) feet, quietly moving about without a word. It didn't strike me until I went to the computer this morning marks one month of being 40.