I must have known it at some point but the knowledge that the sun rises due east on only the spring and fall equinoxes and that now, as we approach the summer solstice it’s more northeast, faded.

Watching the sun rise over the hill on the other side of the ridge this morning confuses me.

I think about mornings spent barefoot and pajama-clad in the back yard shooting the sunrise—farther east, over the top of different hills than the one it’s making a first appearance over this morning.

But I sort it out and watch in awe as another day dawns, and it’s as glorious as ever.

Different, but no less awe-inspiring than the alive-with-bees clump of purple-pink chive blossoms I sat in front of yesterday afternoon with my camera.

In a world that seems upside down where I’m not certain what version of reality to believe anymore, these things point to indisputable truth. They are grounding and worthy of contemplation.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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