Yesterday’s equinox sunrise.
Sunrise on the equinox. It should be due east and the road should head due east, so I’m not sure why the sun appears to be rising just slightly north of the yellow line.
I’ve been meaning to get this photo for years.
Ashley doesn’t indicate needing to go out by scratching at the door. Instead, she boops my laptop with her nose.
A trifle annoying, but today it got me out right on time to see the sunrise.
Since the county roads here are strictly aligned on compass directions, every year I think I should get a sunrise photo on the equinox, showing the sun rising right at the end of the road.
And now that I’m walking the dog every morning anyway, I may actually manage it!
Trump wants churches packed for Easter. I assume this means he wants to decimate those of the Christian faith.
I’m a latecomer to Groundhog’s Day fandom. I blame my second-grade teacher. She told us about the holiday, but who somehow failed to get through to me that it’s a joke.
That unfortunate early experience aside, the cross-quarter date is important to me. Just like Halloween marks the time when I tend to start worrying about the approaching dark days of winter, Groundhog’s Day is when I start to feel like the worst is past.
That wasn’t always true. I used to think that February was the worst part of winter. It always felt bitterly unfair that I’d (somehow) make it through January, only to have to confront another whole month of winter—with no guarantee of relief in March either. (We often get mild weather starting in late March, but it’s also entirely possible to get a whole winter’s worth of snow in the first few weeks of spring.)
But the sun follows a more rigid schedule. The days will get longer—and at an increasingly rapid pace over the next few weeks. And, despite the idiosyncrasies of the weather in any particular year, the longer days will lead to warmer days. It would take a volcano to make it otherwise.
So, I’m a fan of Groundhog’s Day and its promise of spring—whether early or on its regular schedule.