Sunrise is still my favorite time of day. That must be inherited from my dad. Probably a recessive "Iowa Farm Gene."
Growing up Dad would rise early on a Sunday morning (well, actually he was up early every morning to read, pray and exercise) when the water was high. We'd drive out Lincoln Creek together.
Lincoln Creek is a valley of old farms that would flood in winter. One area in particular where we'd stop on a narrow tar side road would fill right up on both sides of the grade. We'd sit and take it all in quietly as the sun rose and the birds woke. I loved to fiddle with the cheap 7x35 Sears binoculars -- I still find pleasure in anything mechanical.
For some reason, I especially remember seeing a redwing blackbird for the first time there. The red of those wings still flash bright in my memory of that gray Western Washington dawn.
Good times. Quiet of day dawning. Light growing. Sounds of world waking. A twelve year old boy getting to shift the old Corolla from the passenger seat for his dad.
Dad's 83 now. He's been in the hospital all weekend. Had a heart attack last Thursday when he went to ER feeling poorly. Voice loaded heavy on the phone last night with stress of bronchitis, sleeplessness, and uncertainty of treatment.
The sounds of sunset I suppose...
No comments:
Post a Comment