Day 3: Water Day

Charles River and Jamaica Pond, 6:40am (sunrise) to 8:30am
Patches of inspired clouds, otherwise clear, brisk, and breezy

A little confession: I worry about overindulging in sunrises.

Previous to this project, I've probably savoured about a dozen sunrises in my life (with full intention, not because I was accidentally awake at that hour). I'm known to organize reluctant friends and family members for my favorite Mt. Tamalpais sunrise hike when I'm back in California.

However, many beautiful, rapturous experiences can lose their splendor if repeated too often : Pachelbell's canon and chocolate-covered pretzel slims come to mind. Even Bach, my gold standard for gold, is best in moderation. Will the sunrise become a tired, familiar, cliche if I see it 30ish days in a row? (and yes, that is a giant ISH!)

So far, it is a totally joyous and amazing thing. I still can't get over the fact that this beautiful transition happens every single day!! And how many thousands have I slept through in this lifetime?

Today was a water day: I watched the sun rise over the Charles River, and hung out at Jamaica Pond with several birds, many of whom chose to remain silent.

I must say, the most striking birds today were soundless: ducks and cormorants (?) gliding silkily and imperturbably across the sun-ignited waters; the single, immobile, curvy-necked crane/heron with its unblinking eye.

I want to compose that kind of silence.

My little peeper of the day was just that : not so melodious, not such a crooner or Don Juan, but more of a cheery whistle-while-you-work kinda fellow. Rather busy hopping and flitting from branch to branch:


I've flipped through my bird field guides (thank you, Boston Public Library!) but can't identify this guy. He's very little and mottled, with a splash of red around the chest. No picture or photo matches, but now I've learned that I need to pay attention to tail shape/length/pattern, how the tail is held, and how the bird moves up and down trunks. Useful for next time!