“I can’t remember ever actually watching a dawn,” said my son in a plaintive little voice. He had been looking at some of my dawn photos, taken that morning from my doorstep. He has seen plenty of dawns… but most of them have been urban affairs, hours later than mine, when the light has cleared the rooftops and chimneypots of the town. Not proper dawns.
He has also, to my sure and certain knowledge, seen rural dawns too… but, because of the faulty memory caused by the brain injury he suffered some years ago, it is quite possible that he really does not remember them.
Busy, unthinking and caught on the hook of that wistful tone, I suggested that if he wasn’t such a lazy toad and got out of bed early enough, I could come down earlier, pick him up and drive him out somewhere to watch the dawn one day.
No more was said about it… until the night before the clocks went back. The day when getting up earlier would mean quite a lot earlier… It was then that he decided to call.
“Can we go and see the sun come up tomorrow?” I groaned, blessed the forecast clouds and put him off until the day after.
Which is why we were leaning on a field gate, freezing our extremities in the pitch black the other morning. Or rather, he was. I had joined him to watch the first streaks of gold set fire to the horizon, watched as the glow spread across the sky…then, knowing it would be another hour before the sun actually crested the hills, I retired to the car to thaw a little.
We had picked a good day for watching a dawn. The sky was cloudless, the air clear and cold, but in the valley, between the low hills and trees, mist blanketed the ground, catching the shifting colours in its softness. My son watched the sunrise and I watched him, knowing the wonder that always comes when you are alone and faced with such beauty.
As the light grew, I joined him again. We watched the stars go out, one by one, drowned by the glow. We saw the frost cover the fields, heard the first birds wake and watched them take to the skies. It was beautiful…but bitterly cold. The Chiltern hills to the east of us would delay the sunrise a good while longer.
Now, I live just a few minutes from where we were watching the dawn. And there is a kettle and coffee , an east facing window and heating… We retreated and sought warmth, much to the delight of the small dog who got to see another of her boys quite unexpectedly. So we finally saw the sun come up across my garden. Sometimes, you have to make the journey before you realise that what you sought was there all the time, right on your own back doorstep.
The small dog, unhappy at missing her early walk but ecstatic at having her boy for breakfast, was not about to let him disappear too soon and set about guarding the front door. She watches the dawn every day and has no doubt that the sun will rise. Her boys, on the other hand, do not appear nearly often enough for her liking and some things, when you have them, should be looked after….and not allowed to slip away…*
*Or at least not without them being made to feel really, really guilty about it….
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
Pingback: Town and country sunrise… – The Militant Negro™
Lovely photos and good on you for taking your son out on that cold morning! I guess there’s a deep primal thing to the sunrise, the faint human memory of a time when we were never sure the life-giving sun would rise again after it went down. Then again, it’s also just damn beautiful!
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There is so much promise in a dawn…so many possibilities waiting to happen…and we never know what a day might bring 🙂
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Very true!
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Reblogged this on anita dawes and jaye marie.
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Thank you, Jaye x
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I love reading about you and yours, Sue. Somehow it is all so reassuring…
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It is a simple enough life, Jaye… it probably looks quite boring on the outside, at least. 🙂
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Nope, never boring, not once. 🙂
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LOL… it is always ‘just normal’ when you are in it 😉
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Not in the least… I would swap, for our family brings a new meaning to the word ‘disfunctional’
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Believe me, mine has more than its fair share of moments too 🙂
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Dogs have a way of making you feel guilty don’t they Sue. I can remember sharing so many dawns with Hubby when we first met as we went over and over figures and finances trying to make ends meet. We were two individuals with their own emotional baggage helping each other, growing close, and…………… well, you know the rest. New Dawns, New Days, New Beginnings.
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Dawns are always a good time to share…even if it is only with the dog. There is always the promise of new things to come.
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The photos are amazing Sue. I really like the one of Nick from inside the car … A beautiful memory made. And of course Ani by the door! 💜
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The colours were just gorgeous 🙂
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They certainly look so 💜
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❤
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I always loved to watch the sunrise. I watched the last one I had a real eye for as best I could on the morning of the day the eye was to come out, even though light caused me so much pain by that time (the reason for the eye removal). I could no longer see more than the increase of light by that point, but I got up earlier than I needed to to watch anyhow, remembering sunrises I had been able to see.
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I cannot imagine being unable to see a dawn… nor having the courage to watch my last in full knowledge. I know Nick struggles to see the stars as his vision was so badly damaged…but reading this, I am even more gald we shared that dawn.
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Yes… Share and enjoy as many moments like this as you can. Just in case.
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What a beautiful post,Sue. I must confess, I’ve never watched a sunrise,at least in this country. I feel inspired by your post to right that wrong 😊 I live near the pennines now,so I ought to be able to hike somewhere suitable! Thank you for sharing your thoughts and your stunning photographs.
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Some of the most spectacularly beautiful dawns I have ever seen…and I see a good many… have been over the Pennines, This time of year is one of the best times for them too.
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Lovely post, Sue.
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Thanks, Mary.
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That look of Ani’s should certainly work for the making them feel guilty part.
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It works for pretty much everything, Bob 😉
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If Ani had a little finger, I know who would be wrapped around it. 😀
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She manages without fingers… a velvet paw approach 😉
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❤ ❤ ❤
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Beautiful photos and reflections, Sue, and what a wonderful (if chilly) dawn with Nick. I have a feeling he’s not the type to turn down such a suggestion or to wait too long to make it happen. ❤
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I should probably have realised that when I made the suggestion 😉 Mind you, I’d have made it anyway 🙂
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😀 Of course.
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🙂
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This was touching. I’m glad you and your son got to share this experience, and great photos. 🙂
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We’ve been lucky enough to share a good few special moments over the past few years 🙂
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There’s nothing better than spending time with our grown children. 🙂
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I am lucky enough to be able to do that…though some days are better than others 😉
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I love the photos, Sue and the message too. We forget what is under our noses sometimes!! 🙂
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We do… though my son is off exploring again …
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Oh, I hope to hear about his adventures when he gets back 🙂
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At the moment, I’m just hoping he makes it there in one piece 😉
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Pingback: Town and country sunrise… | Sue Vincent's Daily Echo - Judy E Martin
A beautiful post about my favorite time of day. And often, the reason I get up in the dark, no matter the time of year. We live in a river valley, so I don’t see the dawn as well as when we are at the Atlantic coast…over the ocean is just about perfect.
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Now I haven’t seen a dawn over the sea for years…
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Reblogged this on Die Erste Eslarner Zeitung – Aus und über Eslarn, sowie die bayerisch-tschechische Region!.
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Thank you!
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Sweet share, Sue. Give Nick my regards…
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I will… when I speak to him next . he’s adventuring 😉
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Aw Sue, this was beautiful. It was almost like being there reading your words and looking at the photos. Magnificent colors. ❤
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Thanks, Debby. This is one of those spots I often go to so that I can watch the sun come up. If I have to be up at unreasonable times, I may as well enjoy it ❤
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Absolutely my friend. I’m with you! ❤
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I don’t think I ever noticed the dawn until we moved to the country. Surely there was a dawn every day, but there were so many houses in the way. Here, no houses … but so many TREES in the way! In the winter, I see it through the trees. And of course, the dogs don’t think about it except that when it happens, it’s time to go out to start the day. Thank you. This was lovely.
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I’ve always loved the dawn…a daily affirmation of possibility. Living in a city most of my life, I have been lucky to live or work where there are hills and so horizons for most of the time. I have missed it when I didn’t.
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Ani knows the secret password and she isn’t telling anyone! 😀 … sunrises and sunsets. Transition times when the world stands still, as though any movement might destroy the magic. 🙂
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The Guardian at the Door 😉
The only movement that enhances dawn or sunset is that of the clouds or a kite soaring …
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Fabulous shots Sue and love the one of Ani xxx
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Thanks, Sally… she is an unreliable guard dog… she’ll let in anyone who will throw a ball, but she won’t let them leave if she can help it 🙂 xxx
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She is a sweetie.. xxx
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She’s a daft dog 🙂 xxx
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Dawns at the countryside are always breathtaking. They lift one up, clear the spirit and give so much inner strength…
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They do… a chance to breathe from the heart somehow.
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