At home, I'm generally a stay-up-late and sleep-in kind of guy. But when I'm camping, my body and spirit adjust to the rhythm of Nature: I go to bed when it gets dark, and get up when it gets light. However, camping in the Alleghenies this month, I wanted to be already up and out at an observation point overlooking the canyon to see the sun come up. So on my first morning, I actually set an alarm to wake me half an hour before sunrise, so I could dress and get out to Pendleton Point. It was worth the effort.
It had rained during the night, and there was a damp chill in the air. All around, birds were discussing their plans for the day, and perhaps making comments about the strange old doofus in a hoodie who blundered past the trees out to the overlook. Far below, I could hear the Blackwater River, flowing strong and swift after all the seasonal rains, but in the dim light it was invisible. The clouds in the east were already glowing, as the sun climbed up the distant side of the mountains. I laughed quietly and felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold: it had been awhile since I'd seen a mountain sunrise, and they always bring a special thrill.
As the sun crept into view, the clouds brightened even more, as if they were glad to see it arrive. The distant tree line, like all else around me, became a dark silhouette, as my eyes tried to adjust to the dazzling brightness. Whenever I see a sunrise, I am always surprised at how quickly it happens, and yet how long it lasts. I stood at the overlook for a long time after, watching color return to the world, slowly appearing out of the gray. The birds, too, were excited, singing with joy at the return of daylight. I stood alone on the rock ledge, smiling, as the light washed over me. Inside, my heart was a tumult of emotions, but the strongest was a deep-rooted gratitude, thankfulness, that I should have the opportunity to experience such a magnificent event. A mountain sunrise always affects me that way.