Field Notes: May Mornings


I love the fuzzy interstice between waking and sleeping. I love how my eyes adjust to being awake, and my mind has to also adjust its focus, the soft edges slowly sharpening. I hate putting the light on too quickly because it forces everything to sharpen up too quickly. I love trying to find the shards of my dream life. And then to recall what I was thinking before I went to sleep. I wake up around 5 or 5:30, and I love how everything looks outside from inside the dark house, especially now that spring is here. Winter can look so bleak, but spring has a sense of lush mystery about it. The promise of it is palpable. Lately the mornings have been foggy and veiled and all one color, but who knows what that color is? Not gray, not green, not brown. It’s so muted.

Every detail seems so beautiful in this predawn light. It looks magical and unreal to me: the cascade of white dogwood flowers glowing brightly, and the seemingly mirrored glow from the white violets that profusely dot the thick luxurious lawn that I really don’t want to mow. But there are ticks to think about, and the lawn must be mowed. The birds are always just starting up their chatter when I wake up, and we’ve had some chilly mornings with the windows all fully closed, but I can still hear them. A fat squirrel bounds on the stump outside the kitchen window, and seems to look in and say hello. A robin later on takes a turn looking in the window at us. Turkeys and pileated woodpeckers are more wary and as soon as they see movement, they’re gone. The other morning there was a tom turkey down the hill strutting about with his tail feathers on display, and it took me a few times to figure out what it was in the gloomy light, as generally turkeys have a sleek and slender profile. They look so different once they puff up like that!

By about six o’clock the sun will start to shine on the surrounding ridges, giving them a peachy glow. That is if we are lucky to have sun. On the cloudy days, and rainy days, which have been the rule lately, things get more solid but the soft edges remain. I love to walk the circumference of our three acres at this early time, no one is up, and on a Saturday the cars are few. The stream that runs into the pond is rushing, everything is still covered with pearls of yesterday’s rain. Everything is wet and heavy, slowly waking up just like me, as the fog burns off.



  1. Szeretem a leírásaid. Remélem tudod fordítani, én nem beszélem a nyelved. De már nem tudtam megállni, hogy ne szóljak hozzá.

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