Goomp's pool as oceancule, a miniature ocean, produces its own version of arctic sea smoke (pink fuzz, left, in photo) early morning. Totally awesome.
Next-to-longest day of the year, with the sun rising way north of that Stonehenge-in-residence, the nineteenth-century summer cottage on Eastern Point at the mouth of the river. As we've often noted here, the sun pops out of the horizon to the left (north) of the house on the longest day and then arises ever more to the right (south) day by day following the Summer Solstice -- the date of maximum tilt.
Sunrise at Camelot-by-the-Sea this morning, the second longest day of the year, when the sun is farthest north (left in picture) in its yearly declination cycle before it starts back south, hitting midway at the autumnal and vernal equinoxes September 21 and March 21 -- and the nadir on the winter solstice December 21.
Our mother always said that once you hit July 4, the summer was over, and now we know what she meant. It's true there is nothing so rare as a day in June in these parts -- mid-coastal New England, with its soft breezes filled with the scent of roses. Here her picture as a young Jackson/Tufts undergrad c. 1938 or 1939, around the time she met her destiny, our own venerable Goomp:
An old-fashioned family heirloom card table with drop leaves in Goomp's livingroom, arrayed with a picture of Mummy in her salad days (center in photo) and precious mementos she treasured -- a multitude of ceramic and metal miniature boxes with alligators, kittens and frogs inside -- came to life in the golden early-morning sunlight of the second-longest day of the year.
Another magic moment with Tiny's fur catching the purple and gold of the sun's early light as she meatloafed atop the snail blog printout before heading outside for field exercises:
The light fantastic lent mystery to everyday objects throughout the house, in this case a Beatrix Potter ceramic Peter Rabbit, the same one Mummy always told us wanted us to eat our carrots:
The secret life of inanimate objects is a natural ally of the drama of early-morning light.
Update: Carnival of the Cats -- brought to you by resident kitties Hakuna and Matata -- is up at the admirable Blog d'Elisson, where proprietor Elisson mistakes us for our father, Arthur -- better known as Goomp -- being as we sent our carnival posts from Goomp's email address yesterday -- but more to the point, Elisson has some information re printing out your blog:
There is, by the way, at least one blog binding service out there, and likely others -- for those of us who wish to see our Reams o’ Crap in print. I’d be interested in hearing from anyone who has tried it.
We'll have to scout that one out.