It’s 33 degrees Fahrenheit, and the rain is behind us, Ulster County. The long nights are nearly two weeks away from as long as they’re going to get.
At 5:45 in the morning, there was a rusting rim on the horizon, dull orange, rising through a forgotten yellow, sick green and spiritless blue. This is the dusk before dawn called nautical twilight. Then comes civil twilight, a peach and lemon-yellow fire. The difference is in the degrees the sun is beneath the horizon over the far side of the planet.
The sun rose at 7:08 this morning.
The sun gets farther away. The moon gets fuller, the tide swings higher. The next high tide will swell the riverbanks at 10:36 a.m., rising four feet to carry off whatever driftwood it can find.
Now 90 percent full, the moon will rise at 2:29 p.m. to carry the tides. There is a wind blowing at three knots out of the west.
Nine hours and 17 minutes of love, loss, errands and dreams will play out in sunlight. We live in a chaotic snow globe.
For the ski report, now we go to Bjorn Jorgensen out at Belleayre. Have you rallied your spirits, Bjorn?
Jorgensen: I will say this, Johannes. The godforsaken rain has finished for now. That is a great pleasure, and an icy rind covers the earth.
Johannes: Like the surface of a crème brûlée before you crack it with your spoon?
Jorgensen: Well, the deer can crack it with their hooves. They are scattered everywhere on the mountain this morning. Yes, and the humidity is also not so bad. It cannot reach through a good wool sweater.
Johannes: But the temperature, Bjorn?
Jorgensen: Ah, yes. The temperature is -3° [Celsius]. It’s quite nice.
Johannes: Never cold enough for you, is it, Bjorn?
The day promises to be mild and the sky to be clear. There is talk of thunderstorms in Phoenix, but that’s nowhere near here — 33° at sunrise. High of 41°.