It is dark, inside and outside. With no good reason that might be apparent, I rise from my bed, turn on the light, and begin my day. I'm growing old and have little to show for my years, little to look forward to, little to be proud of or to excite me with what might yet come to pass. Still, I rise from my bed and begin my day … for I know something, something that can change how I feel.
What do I know? I know that the sun will rise. And I know I will see it from high on a mountain. And though I've seen it before, this is a new day, a new sunrise. The thought of it excites me and gives me pleasure. Within my power, I have the ability to go there. And within nature's power, the twilight will slowly cast its light on the horizon, followed by the rising sun.
The valleys and the rolling hills below will come alive. They will display themselves under the warmth of that bright light as a new day begins, with all its hopeful promise.
The morning sun will undo the mundane. It will warm my face, shine into my eyes and into my soul. It will remind me that some things are eternal. And that knowledge will lift me up and give me the strength I need to continue on my journey, a journey that will have many obstacles, a journey that could lead to the creation of something to show for my years.
And so, I climb out of bed, I climb into my car, I climb that mountain (while driving my car, of course) and I pull into the parking area at Bald Rock Heritage Preserve. Twilight has already begun. Several cars are already there. A young man on a motorcycle asks me if I have an android charger. Never had that question before. I don't carry chargers with me, so the answer was "sorry, but no." I grabbed my camera from the trunk of my car, put on my favorite hiking hat, walked over the little footbridge and up those first 25 feet or so of bald rock, as I headed toward the summit.
The sky is already lighting up. I reach the top of the mountain and look out on the valleys and rolling hills below me. As far as I can see, those rolling hills are poking out of an ocean of low-lying fog. Everywhere I look, I am reminded of a similar photograph I took years ago I called Lake Of Fog. You've probably seen the first few fog-covered photos I took, if you follow me on Gab and are a member of my group, The Good Morning Brigade.
I knew the sunrise would soon change everything I saw on the horizon. The bright pink sky with pale blue above would soon intensify, and the morning sun would make its appearance. From behind me, a young woman, who I had not noticed up till that point, said "I should've worn other shoes." She was wearing flip-flops. Even with my boots, I felt a bit unsure walking around on this solid rock surface. She was using her iPhone to take photos or videos; I'm not sure which.
She said that she had tried to go to the Pretty Place outdoor chapel, a few miles up the road. They were holding a wedding that day and would not let her in. She asked if it was worth going back the next day. Apparently she was not from the area. I assured her it would be worth it, especially if she got there before sunrise.
I smiled at her and began my very careful walk down the side of the mountain, knowing from experience that the best place to capture the sunrise was about 100 feet or so below. Part way down, I stopped and turned to look toward where the sun would rise. The woman had moved down the mountain also, and had gotten into a comfortable sitting position. She saw me stop and asked if she was in my way. I said she was not, although she was. I moved a little farther down the mountain and took my first shot. The sun had already breached the horizon.
That first photograph looked a little odd. The sun seemed misshaped, round on the top but straight on the sides and bottom. I suppose atmospheric conditions were causing the illusion.
I was a little less careful the rest of the way down to my favorite spot. But I made it just fine and began to take photos in earnest. There were pine trees between me and the sunrise, so I took a few photos that included parts of those trees, with the sun bursting through. That required me to walk forward a bit from my favorite spot. But I quickly hurried back.
After firing off a few more photos, I glanced toward the mountaintop. I thought I had heard cars pulling away from the parking area. And I was right. All the other folks had seen what they wanted to see and left the mountain.
From this point forward, the morning was mine.
The sun was fully above the horizon now, and the colors out there were extraordinary. I found myself struggling between two competing desires: capturing what I saw ... and seeing what I saw. Sometimes the camera can get in the way of enjoying the very thing I'm there to see. But I know that. I dropped the camera from my eyes, and to my side. For a few moments it wasn't about photography. It wasn't about capturing a memory.
It was about making a memory. About living in a special moment.
That rising morning sun, with those intense colors all around, gave me a warm and good feeling. Made me glad I was there. Glad I was alive. And so I basked in the beauty of nature, standing on the side of that mountain of rock, in that crisp cool air, watching the morning unfold before me in the most magnificent of ways.
This is what I waited for, so impatiently, through summer. This is why I wake long before dawn. This is why I drive for over an hour through the dark, on winding mountain roads, through the countryside, through small towns and outcroppings of mountain stores, watching for deer crossing the road, watching for patrol cars hiding in the dark, waiting to pounce on a speeder. I do all that, so I can stand on the side of a mountain and witness a sunrise; all the while, my mind is whirling, storing memories, absorbing that precious piece of time.
My excursion to Bald Rock Heritage Preserve is over now, a pleasant part of my recent past. I will certainly return someday, probably after the fall colors reached their peak. I have loaded my photos into Lightroom, deleted a few that did not turn out well, and cropped the rest to my favorite one by two ratio. That just means the height of the photo is equal to half the width of the photo, a size that takes advantage of how photos are displayed online, and gives every photo the look of a mini-panorama, a look that seems befitting to the concept of landscape photography.
If you're reading this, you have probably seen at least one of those photos in my Gab group, The Good Morning Brigade, in my Sunrise from the Mountainside photo series. The series includes seven photos. They will be posted one per day. Your best experience will be to click on each photo and view it full-screen. Try to imagine what it would be like to be standing on that mountainside, in that crisp cool mountain air, all alone with your thoughts, totally surrounded by nature's ever-changing beauty.