Fractured sky

When I’m home I try to check out the sunrise every morning. Usually it’s when I take the dogs for their morning walk, but, as I noted in the last post, sometimes things change by the time I get back inside to a camera. This morning I went out on the deck before I walked the dogs, and this is what I saw.

Sunrise, Monday, 23 September

Sunrise, Monday, 23 September

It was a little surprising, because Sunday had been nearly cloud free, and with a frontal passage the weather guys had said the humidity would be low.

By afternoon, the sky had cleared and it turned into one of those great, low-humidity fall days. The sun was bright and almost hot, but the shade was still cool. Nice.

A change in the weather

Friday morning was just about as close to a perfect morning as we get around here. It was cool with a hint of humidity. It must have been fairly cloudy overnight, because there wasn’t much dew. The crows were calling and some other bird, unidentifiable by me, was singing in the woods as I took the dogs outside. A few crickets were still chirping. I looked at the sunrise to the east and thought for a moment about going back inside for my camera. But the dogs needed their walk.

Our first walk is short, just a little constitutional before breakfast, but by the time we got back inside, a lot of the drama was gone.

Sunrise from the deck

Sunrise from the deck

It was still pretty, but the deeper colors had faded, and the sky was lighter. This image looks more dramatic than the real thing. It’s surprising how quickly a sunrise or sunset changes.

Not much else changed over the day, but it was raining by early Saturday morning. This is from our deck, looking towards the rising sun. It’s there, behind the fog and rain.

Rain and fog

Rain and fog

We were glad to see this rain. It was the first significant rain this month. It rained all day, and by the time it ended, we had about an inch and a third. But dogs still need their walks, rain or not. Both dogs have raincoats, but Lucy refuses to relieve herself when she’s wearing hers, so she has to rush around getting wet while she takes care of her business.

Zeke doesn’t care for his raincoat either, but he tolerates it.

Zeke is ready

Zeke is ready, but not happy

Just barely.

Sunrise in pastels

Some sunrises are dramatic and some are not. This morning’s was not dramatic, but it was nice.

Tuesday morning's sunrise

Tuesday morning’s sunrise

The fog was not as thick down in the valley as in the previous post, but there was some there. It was 68 up on the mountain when we got up. When I drove down into the lowlands, it was 64, a nice inversion. Inversions with fairly high humidity are self limiting, because radiation fog tends to form when the air cools enough. The temperature can’t drop much more once the fog forms.

Low fog

There was nothing unusual about the weather yesterday or this morning. It was partly cloudy last night, and humid. It must have been clear enough to get a good inversion, because there was a thick, uniform layer of fog over the low areas.

Low fog bank

Low fog bank

This was about as flat-topped a fog bank I have seen from up on the mountain. The cloud visible against the mountain in the distance is a layer of thinner, less uniform cloud just on top of the fog.

Signs

There has been evidence of spring lately. Last Sunday afternoon it was definitive.

Banks of fog in the morning

Banks of fog in the morning

What you see here is drifts of fog in the low spots off to the east from the mountain at sunrise on Sunday morning, March 31. Saturday had been rainy, but during the night the clouds cleared and there was some nice radiative cooling. That cooled air settled in the low spots and the moisture in the humid air condensed. But that’s not a sign of spring; it’s common all year long. It’s what you don’t see here that is actually a definitive sign of astronomical or solar spring. The view off the deck towards town is due east, and the sun is coming up to the left, or north, in this view. On the first day of astronomical spring the sun rose due east, and since it’s too far north to be visible here, it is, by definition, spring, or at least past the vernal equinox. So at least in the solar sense that is proof, but spring comes at different times in different areas, and the location of the sunrise alone doesn’t mean spring is here on the mountain.

Faded daffodils and vinca

Faded daffodils and vinca

The daffodils have bloomed and faded. But daffodils can bloom early, and ours did. The vinca minor, or lesser periwinkle, in the background, blooms year-round. The blooms are more numerous in the spring, but they’re here all year long. So the daffodils and vinca don’t provide reliable evidence.

A hint of green on the mountain

A hint of green on the mountain

A few trees on the mountain are showing some green. We’re later up here than down in the lower elevations. It’s a sign, but not definitive.

Blackberries greening and maples reddening

Blackberries greening and maples reddening

There’s green on the blackberry bushes and red on the maples.

Pine candles

Pine candles

The pines have brought out their candles but they haven’t been lit yet. I have seen, or rather felt, some pollen on the windshield, but nothing like the coat of gritty yellow we get later in the spring. But I have been seeing candles for a while. Not proof.

Dogwood buds

Dogwood buds

The buds have been on the dogwoods since last year, and they aren’t showing signs of opening yet.

I worked in the yard Saturday, and it was warm enough that I had to stop every few minutes to wipe sweat out of my eyes. But we can get 70-degree days in the dead of winter, so that’s not really a definitive sign.

No, the real sign that spring has arrived was something else that got into my eyes: bugs. The bugs were flying around my face, landing in my ears and committing suicide by diving into my eyes. They will pretty much disappear later as the weather gets really hot, but for the time being, they are a really annoying but pretty much definitive sign that spring is here.