Greet the dawn
Tuesday, 16Jun2015 Filed in: simple⭐︎ celebrations & passages
This is the second day of the dark moon, and of course the solstice and Suncrest are coming up fast.
After greeting the dawn, I shared strawberries with a raven and talked some about the weather.
It’s been a cooler year so far. I don’t think it’s hit 90 yet, which for June in my bit of Arizona is pretty unusual. I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault, I just think the weather goes in cycles and isn’t exactly the same year to year.
That would be boring.
I wish I could have shared those strawberries with you. Usually they’ve petered out by this time of year but not this year. The raven and I approve, the strawberries are still sweet.
The tomatoes, however, are just beginning to ripen.
I think the raven is more attracted to the food I throw him then what is growing on the vine. There are other birds that do that. The raven really is a handsome bird, you know. I never saw them much when I lived in Phoenix. Here in the high desert, it’s hard to miss them.
Or their opinions.
I haven’t decided what I am going to do for Suncrest this year. It may be a short road trip with a companion.
There is a short trail at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon that leads to the longer, serious trail well down into the canyon. Partway down the short trail there is a room with an open air window and a bench, built just under the Grand Canyon Lodge. That is one of the most spectacular places in Arizona to watch the sunrise on the summer solstice..
And yet there’s a spot in Monument Valley that puts it to shame. You can only get there in a car if it’s not raining.
There’s still something to be said for my roof too.
The secret of watching a solstice sunrise is not to watch the East. It’s watching the North or South as the sunlight slowly kisses and moves across the landscape.
I am a child of the desert, winterborn in Ganado. The sun and the sandstone live in my dreams. I feel the desert winds singing in my blood. I am what happens when Louisiana farming stock takes root on the lands of the Diné.
Father Sun and Mother Earth. One of the oldest tales on the planet. And I get to see it every year.
Pardon me, I think I will go call a certain lady.
After greeting the dawn, I shared strawberries with a raven and talked some about the weather.
It’s been a cooler year so far. I don’t think it’s hit 90 yet, which for June in my bit of Arizona is pretty unusual. I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault, I just think the weather goes in cycles and isn’t exactly the same year to year.
That would be boring.
I wish I could have shared those strawberries with you. Usually they’ve petered out by this time of year but not this year. The raven and I approve, the strawberries are still sweet.
The tomatoes, however, are just beginning to ripen.
I think the raven is more attracted to the food I throw him then what is growing on the vine. There are other birds that do that. The raven really is a handsome bird, you know. I never saw them much when I lived in Phoenix. Here in the high desert, it’s hard to miss them.
Or their opinions.
I haven’t decided what I am going to do for Suncrest this year. It may be a short road trip with a companion.
There is a short trail at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon that leads to the longer, serious trail well down into the canyon. Partway down the short trail there is a room with an open air window and a bench, built just under the Grand Canyon Lodge. That is one of the most spectacular places in Arizona to watch the sunrise on the summer solstice..
And yet there’s a spot in Monument Valley that puts it to shame. You can only get there in a car if it’s not raining.
There’s still something to be said for my roof too.
The secret of watching a solstice sunrise is not to watch the East. It’s watching the North or South as the sunlight slowly kisses and moves across the landscape.
I am a child of the desert, winterborn in Ganado. The sun and the sandstone live in my dreams. I feel the desert winds singing in my blood. I am what happens when Louisiana farming stock takes root on the lands of the Diné.
Father Sun and Mother Earth. One of the oldest tales on the planet. And I get to see it every year.
Pardon me, I think I will go call a certain lady.
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