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As an early riser, I often greet the sun. It never gets old for me, the transition and arrival of light. Until recently, I didn’t realize there were multiple names for twilight, the span between night and day, when the sun is below the horizon. Warning: geeky nerd post, without apology. Setting my alarm, (because this experiment was even early for me), I documented the transitions in mid-June. There was something incredibly peaceful about being a witness to the different stages of morning. 3:25 am. Astronomical Twilight. The sun was 12-18 degrees below the horizon. Many stars could be seen and some planets. (Venus on that morning.) I could see no ambient light on the eastern horizon. I couldn’t even see the horizon! 3:42 am. The violet-green swallow was the first bird to sing. 4:05 am. Nautical Twilight. The sun was 6-12 degrees below the horizon. Silhouettes of trees and objects visible. An orange ribbon stained the eastern horizon, which could now be seen, creating a line between earth and sky. Faint stars faded from view, but bright stars: Vega, Cassiopea, and many others were visible, along with the planet, Venus. 4:17 am. Western tanagers, western flycatchers, western wood peewees, Virginia warblers and robins joined the morning song. 4:42 am. Civil Twilight. The sun was 0-6 degrees below the horizon. There was enough light to see without a flashlight. Colors appeared. Light peach stained the light blue sky. 5:11 am. Sunrise. The first beams of sunlight. Black-headed grosbeaks, broad-tailed hummingbirds, mourning doves, and plumbeous vireos joined the other birds to welcome the sun. “Do it again!” they sang. “Do it again!” The birds have not grown too old for wonder.
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