O’Dark Thirty

October 29, 2023

I confused Perkins this morning. I never get up at the Crack of Dark unless I have an early morning flight to catch out of Richmond, which requires me to leave 2 ½ hours before departure time. But that wasn’t at all the case this morning.

I can’t say exactly why the night was so long that I got up two or three times after finally going to bed at 2:45am. It might have been because life had been weighing on me quite heavily lately and I admit to having slowed down to a scary lethargy, sleeping late and dragging my feet to wherever I needed to be next. In the evenings I’ve been falling into the broken recliner with dinner in my lap after work, and wasting my nights dozing with NCIS reruns for the umpteenth time.

But last night the moon was so brilliant and the air so perfect for this late in October, just perfect, that I kept leaving my bed and wandering out to the balcony to watch Orion chase the moon across the sky from east to west. Most of the night there were only thin sporadic clouds, just enough to be brilliantly lit by the moon without obscuring the stars. The white railing of my balcony absolutely glowed in its light which was doubled by the perfect mirror of the creek below, dimly glowing docks hovering above the still water’s surface.

Some time between 5 and 5:30am I completely gave up on the bed. Perkins and I made our way downstairs where I fed her and made a pot of coffee in near darkness. I didn’t want to spoil the effect of the natural light.

Before the coffee pot was half full, I filled my mug, dribbled in a little Half and Half and walked out to the front porch, thinking I’d sit there in my rocking chair. But I couldn’t help myself. Still in my pajamas (actually dorm pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt), I decided to take a walk. After all, if teenagers can get away with wearing such things to school, I should be able to take a moonlit walk before anyone else was up to ogle at me.

The moon at my back threw my perfectly crisp, moving shadow on the pavement before me. For a while, Perkins trotted along next to me, unleashed. But soon I found myself walking Kent Street alone, peering at the river between the houses, making my way to Waterman’s Park a block away. It was still an hour before the first hints of sunrise over the river. All the way past the bridge and into the Bay was as smooth as antique glass. A few lights were reflecting from the distant shores two or more miles away. Not even a fishing boat or a crabber was on the water yet. Only one or two homes that I passed had a slight glow in a window, possibly a nightlight or maybe a single reading lamp tucked in a corner.

I lingered for several minutes, my coffee mug now empty. Knowing it would be a long wait to watch the sunrise over the bay and I didn’t want to be caught by my neighbors wandering the streets in my PJs, I headed back home, now walking toward the moon. I was looking up into the sky, marveling at how beautiful it was! No painting could do it justice, the moon beaming in the indigo sky with iridescent white lace-like clouds framing the stars. It was incredible!

As I neared home, I recognized Perkins’s bark, the kind she makes when she wants in or out at the door. Apparently, she was unaware that I’d left her behind and was waiting to be let in.

Under this sky I couldn’t deny that the best parts of the day must be sunrise and sunset, with the occasional foray into 0’Dark Thirty. I just couldn’t get enough of this supreme show, so I refilled my mug and headed upstairs to my balcony to take in more of it.

My bedroom balcony faces west and I decided to bring out my computer to write while watching the moon dodge in and out of the clouds.

I may have swayed to the chirping of the tree frogs and crickets. They sound similar to me. I heard the sudden splash of some animal entering the creek below, possibly a deer, raccoon, or muskrat. I heard the first morning shriek of what I call our “resident pterodactyl,” a great blue heron. Beyond that I could hear a persistent mechanical murmur, and I wondered why it was not silent. It was not the thrumming of a boat engine, but came from behind the trees to the west. How strange, I thought. The nearest highway, Route 17, was a good two or three miles away on the other side of the woods, and there would be no traffic in town at that hour. Even in daylight 17 is never terribly busy, especially not in the pre-dawn hours. I wondered if it would take a total blackout to silence that unnatural hum.

At 6:32am I heard, but could not see, the first jet overhead, flying high above the gathering clouds as I sat observing from my balcony chair. At 6:45 I turned around to see the first glimmers of deep rose in the clouds to the east. At 7:15 the clouds surrounding the setting moon turned pink and lavender as the sky was brightening from indigo to a paler blue. And the trees around my end of the creek and overhanging my house began to subtly glow in tones of orange, yellow, and lingering greens. As the birds began singing, I turned around again to the east to see the pinkish clouds there had become glowing golden tufts floating in an azure sky.

I realized it was time to do something good with this day, and the next, and the next….