Sunshine on My Shoulder

Those of you old enough will recognize that title, and those young enough will never get the reference. I am sitting outside typing this to be uploaded later. We discovered another thing about Dillingham which, while quite normal to the locals, seems alien to us. The sunrises in the Midwest are pretty straight-forward, organized affairs. The sun comes up, and that, for the day, is pretty much that. The sun arcs across the sky, and sets in due course. 

Not in Dillingham. 

Sunrise here is an hours long affair. While Mark Twain reported of the spectacular sunsets of Muscatine, I would wager he would see their equal in the sunrises of Dillingham. The sun sets about 11:30 pm local time here, but by 5:30 am you have quite usable light. As I am typing this it is precisely 7:15 am, and the sun is just now deigning to peek above the horizon. Instead of an abrupt, linear event, it is a rather meandering, lackadaisical procession that seems to unfold in a time and manner of its own choosing. 

At our temporary quarters we have a coop with several chickens and one rooster. While having his own personal harem would be reason enough to crow, this rooster seems powerfully confused as to his cue to greet the day. It seems as though he will issue a couple of plaintive crows once the light is of a certain intensity, but withhold the full force of his greetings until the sun actually wends it way above the horizon. Then again, this is the same rooster who also sounds off about 6pm every evening as if he expects the sun to obey his command to set. 

The most diaphanous, ethereal clouds of a passing front are leaving behind a cottony blanket of retreat as the sun advances. More dense and sea-driven clouds seek to block the sun's advance upon the day, but the sun will not be denied. Neither will the incoming supply plane, which appears to be a old DC-10, as it punches through the clouds on approach to the Dillingham airport a couple of miles away. 

It is a crisp, almost chilly morning, and I shall now stage a retreat of my own back into the house to prepare for work. The sun, I am sure, can wage its winning battle against the clouds without my witness.