There are few natural phenomena that can surpass something as regular and commonplace as daily sunrise and sunset. Not all of them are spectacular by any means--as anyone who has experienced a winter in Northern Ohio will tell you. When conditions are just right, though, they produce something close to a religious experience. No. Edit that. For thousands of years of human history, sunrise was literally treated as a religious experience. Consider the number of stone age and ancient monuments that were specifically designed to focus the rays of the rising sun through some aperture on a significant day such as the vernal equinox. Or, when I am in a Homeric mood, I recall his personification of "rosy-fingered Dawn, the child of Morning."
There are scientific explanations for why some sunrises or sets are even more beautiful than others (wave length of blue or red light, dust or volcanic particles in the atmosphere) but I'm guessing that most people are more impressed by the aesthetics than the science. So, when the sky takes on a rosy glow with pastel pink or mauve we think that's pretty nice. And when it turns vivid yellow, orange and red, we tend to think that is nicer still. The very best are usually experienced when there are just enough clouds to scatter, reflect and refract the light.
The downside, of course, is that sunrise tends to occur much of the year at rather inconvenient times. Inconvenient, that is, for some of us slug-a-beds who have to be nagged into getting up. Or inconvenient because, in the winter, you may have to be at work before sunrise and don't get off work until after sunset.
When Shirley and I were on Maui, we got up in the middle of the night to check on the weather at the summit of Mt. Haleakala. No point in driving from sea level to 10,000 feet if the summit is socked in and there is nothing to see. When conditions are right, what you see is the sun emerging from behind the far rim of the volcano. If you are tempted by the prospect, remember to pack your coat. At 10,000 feet, it is winter rather than tropical up there.
When we are at our favorite campsite in Arizona, we park the RV so the first light of the day comes through Shirley's window. At which point she puts her right elbow in my left ear and says, "Are you awake yet? You don't want to miss this." She's right, of course, even though the cauliflower ear does somewhat diminish my otherwise flawless physiognomy.
You will note a disproportionate number of photos of sunrise or set from Arizona in the selection below. That's mainly because my personal opinion is that Arizona is blessed disproportionately with spectacular rises and sets.
The sun rises from behind the far rim of the volcano at Haleakala.
Right in the middle of the picture you will find a few clouds. We don't usually view sunrise from above the clouds. And those "mountains" are actually the rim of the caldera.
From the slopes of Haleakala, you can see the West Maui mountains.
Florida Bay can have rather nice sunsets.
Meanwhile, in Alaska there is barely any sunset at all. The summer sky just dims for a short time and then brightens again. This is about 10:45 p.m. at Seward where our campsite was literally just a few feet from the water.
Timing is critical. We drove up to the summit of Signal Mt. in the Tetons for the sunset. Nice but not what you would call spectacular if you are a few minutes late.
This, on the other hand, is somewhat more impressive. Mesa Verde in SW Colorado.
One of the advantages of Gulf Islands National Seashore near Pensacola is that Santa Rose Island runs east-west. You get both a nice sunrise and sunset.
Vivid orange is quite satisfactory but colors tend to be enhanced by some scattered clouds.
I thought it fascinating that the sun seems to have
taken a bite out of the cactus.
A butte in Badlands National Park. Or, as Shirley usually says, "Isn't that a beaut?"
Slash pines silhouetted against the sky in Everglades National Park.
You undoubtedly already guessed that we are back to Arizona.
Davis Lake, on the Natchez Trace, in the early morning mist.
Padre Island sunrise.
Oooh!
Telescope Peak catches the first rays across Death Valley
Big Bend National Park in Texas.
You may have noticed that the distinctive profile of Mt. Ajo keeps
showing up. That's because this is what Shirley sees first thing
every morning in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.
OK, so it is slightly off topic but the moon over Ajo right after
sunset was just too delicious to overlook.
That columnar cactus on the left is an organ pipe.
The sky was on fire at Las Cienegas National Wildlife Area.
Golliegeebobola!
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