September Sunrise

The Wood Duck Trail

John
First light inched above the horizon while nighttime silence enveloped us as we walked slowly down the Wood Duck Trail on our way to a sit spot.  In the dim light my feet touch-stepped over the roots and rocks and the up and down contours of the trail. 

I was glad to walk slowly.  It was an opportunity to prepare for our sit spot, a chance to even out my breathing and open my senses.  I felt the chilly 39 degrees air touch my face.   Glancing up I saw a bright quarter moon and two morning stars shining.  The heavy dew soaked through my boots—wet socks, cold feet.   I have to get some good waterproof boots, I thought.

I glanced back to make sure Ellington was finding her way safely along the trail.  She was joining me for this sit spot session.  As a photographer and painter she had a skill set to see.  As an acupuncturist she understood the natural waves and energies of healing.  As a long-time practitioner of yoga and meditation she knew about mindfulness.  As an avid hiker she enjoyed the outdoors. 

All of this suggested that she was a good candidate for a sit spot.  But, when you ask someone to get up at 5 a.m., drive 30 minutes in the dark, trudge 15 minutes down a dark trail, and sit for an hour in the cold, you never know how it might turn out.

We followed the just-visible white trail markers through the woods arriving at a meadow where we had our first view of the mist covered pond. As we continued to our destination along the Bluebird Trail I heard the first tentative morning bird songs pierce the night-time silence—the soft witchety-witchety-witchety  of a yellowthroat, the distant caw, caw, caw of a crow and the hoarse crrrruck call of a raven in flight.  I checked my watch, 6:15 a.m., a half hour before sunrise, typically when the birds start to sing.

When we reached the pond overlook along the Bluebird Trail Ellington stopped to set up her chair. I proceeded another 75 yards down the trail, set up my camp stool on an elevated spot, pulled out my notebook,  drew my first sensory awareness circle, and settled in ready to begin my first ten minute observation.

Ellington

Sacred is the word that came to mind as I stepped onto a welcome mat of thick grass leading to the Wood Duck Trail and my sit spot. Amid a great stillness the gentle and soothing song of crickets purred softly. The sound reassured me and coaxed me forward. All the surroundings seemed sweet and safe.

In the dim first light, I felt I was entering a great circular hall. Its walls of pine and deciduous trees supported a dome shaped ceiling of indigo blue. Upon the dark dome shone the pearly white moon accompanied by the bright planets of Mercury and Venus. I felt the pleasure of their company as I followed the trail deeper into the woods.

The path forward had been cleared by trimming back the understory of shrubs and small trees. I loved the way leaves and branches would occasionally brush against my shoulder or seem to reach out and touch my hand—another welcoming gesture.

My slow and steady progress was greatly aided by my incredible boots. My Boggs were up for any challenge the trail might present. With the equivalent of having night glasses on my feet, I managed the slip and slide over damp mossy rocks adjusting quickly to the rise and fall of small gullies. With my ankles supported and my feet warm and dry, I followed the moving outline of my guide, John, confident I was able to walk to the ends of the earth.

As we stepped out of the woods and into the meadow the nighttime blue faded into a discernible horizon. Looking to my left I had my first view of the pond replete with mist and wonderful shapes of treetops etched upon the coming light of day. I was amazed how much the light had increased during the brief fifteen minute time span of our walk. I took my first photo.

Continuing our comfortably paced saunter, I began thinking to myself; we better pick up the pace and must walk faster.  We can’t miss the sunrise. I felt agitation and a rushing within. I must have time to set up, I must get situated, I must be ready before the sun rises. Hurry, hurry I thought. I must see the sun as it rises. I was exhibiting the anxiousness of a first timer filled with anticipation.

The sky had now brightened to the extent that I could clearly see the marker for the Bluebird Trail and easily find my sit spot at the ponds edge.  I considered sitting on the lovely wooden Aldo Leopold style bench that looked so inviting, was perfectly placement and required no setup time. Remember, I was a lady with a mission and time constraints. But a closer look revealed the bench to be sopping wet with early morning droplets of dew.

I opened my folding camp chair quickly and looked for a level spot with a commanding view. Much like a cat needing his favorite blanket to create the perfect feel for a nap, I pushed and prodded the ground in several places checking for the necessary stability. After several attempts, I felt comfortably situated and sat down.   Then and only then was I able to retrieve my notebook, camera and binoculars and breathe a sigh of relief.  I had arrived. Or had I?

Slightly to my left I registered a definite lightening on the skyline with pale pink wisps above. Oh!  I said to myself.  That is where the sun will first reveal itself. Trying to adjust my placement to face the brightest spot on the horizon the chair began to tilt and wobble. Voicing a weary sigh from so much chair wrangling, I knew I needed to chill. I placed my chair back in its original spot. The sun might not rise dead center in front of me, but I certainly had the ability to turn my head to watch the event.

Morning Voices and Vistas

Ellington

It was 6:25 and time to begin. I drew a circle in my journal and marked a dot in the center representing my location in this newly entered world. 

Feeling comfortable with my sitting posture, I drew my attention to my breath and felt its softness.  Entering the nostrils, the air was cool, moist and refreshing. Upon release it was warm and soothing. Closing my eyes, I directed the inhalation to the center of my head. Upon exhalation I allowed the captured breath to slowly and smoothly drop into the bowl of my abdomen. Just one breath and I was home. I heard the deep throated call of a raven off to the right. 

Slowly opening my eyes, I became witness to the beauty of Browning Beaver Meadow Pond. Three wood ducks flew silently by and to my right a common yellowthroat greeted the morning with a single call.

Free from concerns for time or place, I softened my focus continuing the qi gong breathing practice.  I rested in awareness of the ultra-subtle pulsing of the light, the romantic pale blue of the sky and the intricate close arrangement of the trees on the far side of the pond. The misty mirror of the pond reflected the shadows of the backlit forest in varying shades and hues of muted green and blue.

The pond seemed to be advancing toward me in a profusion of small lily pads. Resting my gaze on water’s edge directly in front of my sit spot I peered into the reflection of the sky on the water.  The sky above the trees, now in mirror image, was at my feet.  I perceived all of this thru a veil of fine mist rising from the surface of the pond.

John

Two geese swam slowly away from me in the morning mist.  My presence must have made them uneasy.  I listened to the full 360° circle around me—crows cawed, a catbird mewed, a great blue heron squawked, a female wood duck called a plaintive oo-EEK, oo-EEk, a male wood duck called a high thin jeweep, jeweep, and from the woods to my left came the gobble, gobble, gobble of wild turkeys—nature giving voice, primeval, eternal voices welcoming the dawn of a new day.

Across the pond through the swirling diaphanous strands of mist I saw dark green trees bordering the pond.  In the distance loomed a high ridge line of more dark green trees—all seen through the shifting shrouds of mist  I could heart-feel an immediate relaxing and pleasing effect of this tree vista, the dark greens and the ever-branching fractals.

Above the trees the first color show of the day appeared scattered slender strands of pink. A raven, stark black against a blueing sky flew over, strong steady wingbeats, voicing a single loud croak.   Two wood ducks appeared on the water in front of me, paddling, gliding across the surface, dipping beaks, straining for food, steady and purposeful morning feeding, entirely at home in their world.  I must be blending in I thought as the ducks seemed oblivious to my presence.

Misteries

Ellington

Startled by the call of a warbler directly behind me, I was alerted that it was 6:35 and time to draw a new circle. A yellowthroat nearby to my right confirmed its presence with a call.

My surroundings were silent, but not quiet. The repeated mewing calls of a catbird were punctuated by the single caw of a crow. Another crow called out. Quiet cries of of a blue jay and another mewing catbird, but no sightings.  The forms and shapes of the forest woods were softened by a scrim of foggy mist. The glowing moon was still above me.

Looking up from my notebook I was taken in by pale lavender light to my left and saw that a singular bright peach cloud had appeared. Yes, the sun is coming. That is the spot.

Looking again at the peach cloud, I noticed that it had enlarged and now rested on layered cloud beds of blue violet, lilac, and rose. Above the clouds the sky was evincing a pale-yellow glow that softened as it merged into a light blue sky. With the increasing light the trees now appeared to be in full dress. Shall we call it late summer’s finery?

John

Enough light now to study the mist, swirling strands above the water, drifting slowly but steadily from my right to left.  Was the mist pushed by the wind?  I felt nothing, but a check of nearby grass stems revealed an ever so slight movement of air, enough breeze to push the ultra-light strands of mist.

Autumn, with its lingering warm pond water and cold morning air, provided the just right conditions to generate mist.  Countless strands arose, floated, and mingled, an almost hypnotic view.  Two mallards swam into view, paddling silently through the mist, dipping and feeding, at home on their pond.

More bird songs and calls floated through the morning mist—a robin calling tut, tut, tut, a white breasted nuthatch singing ank, ank, ank, a blue jay crying jay, jay, jay, more crows and ravens and catbirds, and to my left hidden in the mist the whirring of wings and splashes as ducks landed.

Light and Sound

Ellington

A nearby bush at the pond’s edge caught my attention as several slender branches began to bounce and wiggle, a tiny busy bird, faint chirps, probably a hungry migrating warbler feeding.  The bush became center stage as a second and then third warbler flew into the branches to join their friend.  They rapidly cheeped to one another creating quite a commotion and rustle amongst the slender twigs and small leaves. They flitted from branch to branch so playfully. I smiled. 

Raising my eyes to the pond I saw the mist slowly moving in from the right and left to meet in a steadily enlarging and rising smoky pillar. I heard the calls of a robin, blue jay, crows, many catbirds mewing, and again the raspy assertion of the raven. But my focus was now on the continued expansion of the circling misty fog that began to obscure my view of all else.

My perception of reality and the appearance of the natural surroundings began shape shifting. The trees surrounding the pond in fine attire became attendees at a grand ball. The thickening mist rising in curling threads, strands and ribbons morphed into puff like clouds and became the figures of dancing couples. The pond was a shining marble floor of light green and pale pink. The rotating and circular movement of the charming dancers signaled they were engaged in a waltz. They spiraled and moved clockwise around the dance floor. The lacy trim of the gowns and the detailed embroidery of the shawls were easily seen The gentlemen’s elaborate neck pieces and waistcoat tails moved in perfect harmony to the slow turning and circling movement of the dancing mist.

This would make an amazing painting I thought. I hoped my memory could hold these images. What I was pulling from imagination’s realm was not something I could photograph. Lost in this vision, time was suspended. I sat motionless in amazement of the beauty unfolding.

Welcome to Browning Beaver Meadow, a place of magic and enchantment. Hope you will come again.

John

The strands of pink vanished leaving an empty gray-blue sky.  Perhaps there would be no color show this morning this morning.  Scanning the horizon I noticed a single tall pine tree.  I let my gaze settle upon the pine and gradually I began to truly see the tree—its  height, and shape, and branches and dark green color, a compelling view rising tall above the ascending strands of mist.

In the distance I heard three different crow voices, one higher, one lower, one rough, all calling back and forth.  From the woods past the pond, I heard the loud voices of ravens croaking and calling.  Behind me from the scrub brush near a hayfield blue jays with different voices and different versions of jay calls conversed back and forth.

I smiled.  These birds were all members of the Corvid family, smart, communicative, social birds.  Clearly they were awake, fully engaged in conversations about the tasks and opportunities and dangers of the day.  No time to waste when the sun shines.

I Know Where

John

Three mallards,  dark sculpted shapes in the mist, dropped out of the sky, set their wings, curved and glided in front of me, and splashed down somewhere to my left.  Strong winged ducks transitioning from air to water, always a stirring sight, another one of those “moments of beauty” that come when sitting still in nature.

I looked down at the grasses and flowers of the meadow around me—short spray-blossomed goldenrods, tall grass stems already brown, and broad leafed grasses still green.  At the tip of a blade of grass hung a large drop of dew.  Looking around I saw that all of the leaves and grasses and flowers were covered with dew drops, some tiny as if sprayed on with a mister, some medium, and some as large as pendants.

The dew covered all of the plants, watering and nurturing the plants, water that would in the sunshine evaporate into the air, only to return on the next cool night.  As I gazed at the dew I began to perceive a mutually supportive system, water and plants and temperature all working together.  I had always seen the morning dew as an isolated phenomenon, but now I experienced a moment of noticing, a vision of a system of sustenance, generosity, and support.

Glancing up to the horizon I saw a small half circle of color, of pink and peach and orange lifting above the far tree line.  Now I knew where the sun would rise.

Ellington

Awakening from my reverie, I saw crows flying right to left and out of sight.  At trio of mallard glided in fast-touching down onto the pond. The misty fog stayed close to the smooth surface of the water and hung stationary.

Suddenly there came an upsurge in the volume on the light. With a flash, a large fan shaped arc of intense pink light appeared above the trees directly in front of me. I had misjudged the location of the rising sun. What a thrilling surprise. My chair commanded the perfect sit spot view.

Rising

John

The arc of color presaging the sunrise pushed higher and grew wider offering more shades and blends of pink, peach, rose and yellow.  The sky brightened.

The sunrise seemed to excite the birds into more songs and calls.  Nearby I heard the chedp, chedp call of common yellowthroats, warblers, at home in the pond edge habitat, tiny birds resting, refueling, readying for their long flight south. 

Across the pond hidden in the mist two hen mallards engaged in a loud quack-off—first one and then the other in response unleased a loud QUACK, QUACK, Quack, quack, quack.   A woodpecker drummed loudly on a dead limb.  Two ravens flew overhead, calling individual variations of crrruck, crrruck calls.  Two catbirds popped to the top of a bush. I saw their beaks open and close as they called mew, mew mew.  Two geese in flight over the farm fields behind settled into a honk, honk, honk rhythm.  More crows cawed back and forth and back and forth.

The movement of the mist, illuminated now by the light grew more complex—some strands swirling in place, some rising straight up, some caught in a back draft drifting from left to right.  The mist seemed as if it would linger over the pond forever.

Looking back up at the expanding color arc of the sunrise I saw the colors spread and intensify. I was excited to finally see the sun rise, to see the bright orb ascend, to feel its warming rays.

A thought popped in my mind.  Why would anyone pay money to sit in a darkened movie theater, or drive to a crowded concert to listen to loud music when there was so much entertainment, so much action, so much to see and hear in nature at sunrise?  And the only expense was the effort to get up early, to sit still, and to maybe put up with wet feet and cold hands.

And was nature waiting for us, wanting to give us instruction, welcoming us back home?

Ellington

A flurry of activity ensued as the sun steadily rose through the kaleidoscopic filigree of tree branches. I watched the deep golden orb of the sun push above the tree line, the sun surrounded by an aura of pulsing persimmon, red, and orange light. Crows, jays and catbirds called from all sides. The mallards rose off the pond, winged close to the surface and flew off.  A dozen Canadian geese called out as they headed to a destination to the far south.

They geese were following the sun and that was what I desired to do as well. I just wanted to sit and be with the majesty of this beautiful sunrise.  I had been marking off the 10-minute intervals, snapping photos, taking notes of wondrous avian sightings and their calls, but now I wanted to stop and remain silently present. And that is exactly what I did.

Warmth and Diamonds

John

The sun pushed above the tree line. Arcs of bright yellow and orange superseded the pinks and peaches. Beams of direct sun-warmth touched my face and warmed my chest.  An almost palpable sense of relief arose within me and seemingly all around the pond. The two hen mallards settled into a quiet back and forth quacking.  Three wood ducks swam into view, paddling slowly, dipping beaks, feeding easily.  The tones of the caws and jays and the tut, tut, tut of the robins all sounded softer—another day of light, warmth, and nourishment had arrived, another promise of renewal fulfilled.

I looked down at the dew drops.  The tiny liquid orbs caught the first rays of the sun, prismed the beams into rainbow colors, and hung like diamonds from the leaf tips. Glancing around I saw that the yellows, and greens, and tans of the meadow grasses and goldenrods brightened and sparkled in the sunlight.

I felt a strange shift in my perception of time, simultaneously accelerated and expanded.  The ten minute intervals, the typical linear time I lived by, raced forward.  Yet at the same time the present moments of light and color and sound seemed to expand infinitely.

My scheduled hour wound down but I wanted to stay longer.  I wanted to watch and feel the increments of sunlight and sun-warmth.  I wanted to watch the night time mist that seemed so eternal fade away. Intellectually, I knew it would happen, but I wanted to witness it.  I wanted to see the dew dry and to watch and listen as the birds settled into their daytime business as the sun ascended into a vast blue, blue sky.

A Reluctant Departure

Ellington

When the agreed upon hour of sitting came to an end, John returned from his sit spot, and we began our walk back along the trail. All I could really say now was that an hour was not enough time.

Walking away from my sit spot I felt a tugging from behind, turned, and looked back. A broad-winged hawk suddenly swooped across the meadow flew low directly toward us and landed on a limb of dead tree near the path.

The hawk was close enough for me to see its penetrating eyes and sharp beak. I stood gaped mouth as he peered down upon us. Its puffed out creamy white breast was illuminated in the sunlight. I marveled at its generous size and the mellow brown of its back and head. 

I stood motionless in the hawk’s presence and watched spellbound when it lifted back into the air, flew across the meadow, and landed on another bare branch, I knew its attention was focused on us. Even at a greater distance I felt we were seeing eye to eye. This was not just a sighting; this was a visitation. To fly so close to us and perch so near.  What was his message?

I suspended my thoughts as I slowly continued the walk back along the Wood Duck Trail. My legs felt heavy. I did not want to leave. But I had fulfilled my mission. I had arrived on time, brought my accoutrements, drawn my circles, measured my time and attended the glorious sunrise.

The hour had passed and now was the time of returning on the path back to car and home. But no, there had to be more. Yes, there just had to be more, but I knew not what that meant. I did know I was not ready to leave the environs of the pond. I decided I would walk to the observation deck on the opposite side of the pond and just…just what? Just sit once again.

John

The final seconds of our sit spot hour ticked by. I stood up, packed and shouldered my gear and made my way back down the Bluebird Tail to meet Ellington.  Her first comment was, “An hour isn’t long enough.”  Ah, so she felt it too.

We walked, slowly, somewhat reluctantly, back along the trail.  As we crossed an open field a broad-winged hawk, brown back and wings, pale chest, flapped silently over us and landed on the limb of a nearby tree, an approach much closer than typical.

Were we blending in?  Was this visit from the hawk a lesson, a gift from nature for the time and attention we had offered?

The hawk lingered in the tree and then slowly, fearlessly, flap-glided to another tree at the edge of the field, froze in place, blended into the branches, scanned the open meadow, seemingly resuming its morning hunt.

We turned and continued, following the path our earlier footsteps had made in the dew covered grass. Neither of us was ready to leave.  Ellington said she would go to the observation deck to sit a while longer.  I felt the need to walk the two mile loop around the pond.  In the woods I saw a great horned owl, silent and large flying deftly through the trees.

When I finished my hike and returned to my car the sun was up, the mist had vanished, and Ellington had departed.

                                                                      *****

This shared sit spot took place on the morning of September 16, 2022 at Browning Beaver Meadow near Equinunk, PA. The sanctuary, open to the public, is a parcel of vital wild nature where all are welcome to sit or hike and take in the rejuvenation that nature offers. 

http://www.nepaaudubon.org/about/sanctuaries/

You are welcome to read about more sit spots and wander walks on this blog or in my book, The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning available at Amazon.com and through Shanti Arts Publishing.

The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning: Harvey, John: 9781947067592: Amazon.com: Books

The Stillness of the Living Forest, John Harvey (shantiarts.co)