Silhouetted trees at sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
The Autumnal Equinox was a week ago for those living in the Northern Hemisphere. I was fortunate to catch the summer’s last sunset as I stepped out the front door of our daughter’s house in Harrisonburg, Virginia.
It had been cloudy all day, so the illuminated western sky was a pleasant surprise. I didn’t have my camera along, so all these photos were captured by my iPhone 14 mini.
When my wife and I reached an open spot on a hill behind Eastern Mennonite University, the sunset was reaching its peak. I snapped my way to the space that provided an unobstructed view of the Allegheny Mountains 30 miles away.
I was amazed at the various colors that summer’s final sunset produced. The blues and pinks hung high in the evening sky. Closer to the horizon, the warmer colors dominated.
It was a pretty punctuation mark on a summer that brought tornadoes, flooding, drought, wildfires, and days on end of gray skies here in the usually picturesque Shenandoah Valley.
Mole Hill is in the foreground left and the Allegheny Mountains are beyond.
Since our home faces north, I always have to keep a sharp lookout for a lovely sunset. When I noticed the southern sky turned golden last evening, I grabbed my cameras and headed to a nearby farm pasture to get a good view to the west.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I exited my car. The sky lit up in every direction with varying and rapidly changing intensities. I did my best to capture the unfolding beauty surrounding me.
The glow to the west was filled with a variety of warm colors. A large cloud curved and swirled overhead, reflecting the setting sun in many hues north and east. To the south, the sky was more pink than orange. Added altogether, I felt privileged to inhale the enveloping wonder.
The slideshow provides views from every direction.
Soon after a severe thunderstorm blew through last evening, I noticed some pinkish clouds in the east. That usually is a sign of a beautiful sunset. I hustled out to the street and was treated to this beautiful scene.
Crepuscular rays radiated through the clouds as the sun sank behind the Allegheny Mountains to our west. I knew I wouldn’t have time to drive to higher ground, so I settled for this image from our front yard.
We live in a noisy world. It’s hard to find pure silence to simply listen, ignore the busyness of your mind, and relax without interruption.
When I saw an invitation to participate in a Contemplative Sit at the end of the daily devotion I received via email from Richard Rohr, I clicked on it. I instinctively knew I needed the 12-minute exercise to calm my mind, body, and soul. I didn’t realize how hard it would be.
The Reverand Dr. Barbara Holmes led the video presentation. The screen was a lifeless gray, with the title “Contemplative Sit” half grayed out. Once the single chime of a small bell rang to begin the exercise, I closed my eyes, thinking I could better concentrate on breathing in and out. It wasn’t to be.
I thought about last night’s sunset, the high gray clouds reflecting the sun’s warm glow. Our mother star had long since sunk below the Allegheny Mountains. I waited then for the warm beauty of the sky and now for a fulfilling silence.
I heard a crash from the video I knew wasn’t part of the meditation. I opened my eyes and saw the countdown to skipping another YouTube ad. I immediately clicked it away. Then I noticed the words, “We focus on the breath going in and out of the body.” I realized I needed to keep my eyes open to be fully engaged.
At that moment, however, I became acutely aware of all the noise around me. My neighbors across the street were mowing their yard in their usual father-and-son tandem. The sound of the two mowers competed with the tinnitus in my ears. I had buzzing external and internal competition to distract me.
Ironically, only then did I hear the video’s faint ebbing and flowing of wind rustling over a prairie, a desert, through tree limbs. I couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. I concentrated on my breathing. I unconsciously rubbed my hands on my thigh bones down to the knees and back to the hem of my kaiki shorts.
A single-engine plane flew a few hundred feet over the house, probably from the local private airport eight miles away. Its sturdy engine soon carried it out of earshot.
Was I failing this intentional time of contemplation? I let go of that judgment and refocused on my breathing. I spied a mother robin bobbing in the grass beneath the red maple tree in our front yard. She had speared an insect, likely to help feed her second brood of the summer.
My cell phone dinged. Another person in the group text commented on my friend Mike’s release from the hospital. I breathed a breath-prayer of thanks and gratitude.
A morning breeze rustled the leaves and bounced the smaller limbs of the maple outside my window. Still, I heard the wind’s faint rhythm coming and going from the video. Two Goldendoodles from the neighbors down the street barked, a regular occurrence. I continued breathing, letting go, and focusing on silence without self-criticism.
A pair of Northern Cardinals flew into the maple tree, and the video bell sounded the meditation’s end. I felt free, rooted, and ready to face the rest of the day.
I hadn’t planned on doing this meditation. But I have always enjoyed spontaneous activities that arouse my senses of the world around me. This morning’s experience was an unexpected but necessary infusion into another day of joyful living.
(I have included the link to the meditation if you are interested.)
Summer days are full of light. From the early hours of predawn until the last glimmer of sunset, the warm days of summer brighten our world. That’s true even when thunderstorms darken the sky. They seldom last long and often offer a rainbow as they pass. Gray cloudy skies that bring all-day rains are few and far between here in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
I enjoy the morning birdsong wake-up calls and their evening serenades. But it’s the glorious sunrises and sunsets that spellbind me. Their ever-changing color scheme spawns a breath prayer of gratitude.
As the lower dark clouds sailed north, the evening’s mist began to rise out of the valley at the foot of Shenandoah Mountain. Each curl of cornstalk captured a glint of the day’s last light. I was filled with wonder, awe, joy, and peace. Those are the everlasting gifts of sunsets.
My wife and I come to Florida for a few weeks each winter. There are many reasons we do so besides the warmer weather. Magnificent sunrises and sunsets enrich our lives.
The sunrises come to us. Our rented condo is on the beach facing the Atlantic Ocean. I only have to walk from the bedroom to the front windows to enjoy dawn’s show. Sometimes I stand in awe at the glorious beauty before me.
Please click on the photo to enlarge it.
Sunset is a different story. An hour or so before the time for sunset, I check the western sky. If it looks favorable, we delay supper, and my wife and I head to one of several locations for picturesque photos.
Depending on where we go, we’ll head out 15 minutes to half an hour before dusk to be ready for nature’s glory to unfold. The image below was taken near a marina on Egans Creek in Fernandina Beach. I was fortunate that these fishermen called it a day at the sunset’s peak.
I was out watering plants and trees last evening since we haven’t had any rain for several days. Suddenly, the western sky turned bright golden.
I quickly wrapped up my watering, grabbed my camera and iPhone, and headed to a close location with an open view to the west. The golden glow had faded. The sun disappeared behind the Allegheny Mountains, but dramatic color remained.
The farmer had already cut the enormous cornfield and had turned loose steers to forage for spilled corn cobs. With Mole Hill to the left and the sunset’s remnants still lingering above the mountains, it looked like a scene out of the old west, not the Shenandoah Valley.
The vista was a beautiful way to close out the first day of September.
I searched for a decent location to photograph the latest lovely sunset in the Shenandoah Valley. I stopped when I came upon this scene of young steers grazing.
The Black Angus scattered in the rolling pasture filled the foreground, while the local landmark of Mole Hill, an extinct volcanic core, dominated the background. The sunset orange-tinted cloud hovered over the Allegheny Mountains in the distance. I imagined old Mole Hill had exploded out of eons of dormancy.
I am always looking for new locations to capture sunsets. I accidentally found this spot on a dead end road.
While the sunset wasn’t spectacular, something else caught my attention. The sweet fragrance of growing corn filled my senses. Then I noticed how the soft evening light highlighted the emerging tassels of the cornstalks. The flow of the large cornfield took my eye right back to the Allegheny Mountains and the setting sun.
Sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean, Fernandina Beach, FL.
My wife and I are on our winter vacation on Florida’s Amelia Island northeast of Jacksonville. We try to retreat here during winter’s coldest time. Though it’s not balmy here like southern Florida, we don’t have all that snow folks do up north right now.
There are a great many things to like about Amelia Island. The sunrises and sunsets top my list, closely followed by the wildlife, especially the many species of birds.
Our rented condo is right on Main Beach in Fernandina Beach. Unless it’s cloudy, sunrises are a daily treat. No two are alike.
We don’t have far to go for sunsets either. We drive to various spots along the Amelia River that afford marvelous views of the setting sun. Of course, not every evening offers up a golden sky, but we have seen many glorious sunsets in our several visits to this unique isle.
I enjoy photographing as many sunrises and sunsets as possible. I love sharing them with you all the more.
Roadkill Crossing 
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