As we approach the shortest day of the year, I am grateful at sunrise. The color of the sunrise light blows my mind year after year.
As we head out the door in the morning, the world is dusky and oh-so-cold. The snow glows in the dim light. Then, as I pedal, I spot the first beams of the deep red sunrise light up on the tops of the pine trees. When we are at our old place, I know exactly where the first rays will reach the ground so I make a beeline to that spot. But, at our new place, I am naive, and my eyes eagerly seek the first spot to be bathed in sunlight.
One day, I spotted a shaft of sunlight hitting some boulders high above the creek that runs through the land. We hustled up there, and Shyla settled into the warm spot of sunlight.
I am grateful for sunrises around the winter solstice. They are magical.