I’m looking for one word that describes the moment about a half-hour before sunrise that has been lining up perfectly with my morning routine these last couple of weeks. I get back from the Y, let the dogs out, and have a drink on the back porch.
The insects are starting to wake up, their sounds not yet overtaken by traffic on the street. Everything else is quiet, except for the occasional chitter of some small animal near the porch (probably the groundhog that ate my pickles.)
In that one moment, looking east into the field and orchard that wrap behind the neighbor’s yard, there is a small gathering of two or three deer. I never see them enter the frame. They just appear as one shadow under the tree, eventually splitting into separate silhouettes.
That’s when the dog notices them. I’m not sure if he sees or smells them - it doesn’t seem like they make any noise at all - but he starts a regular, polite bark like he’s calling them over.
They dip their heads for a moment, probably eating whatever crab apples or pears are on the ground, maybe even a pawpaw, and then disappear as ethereally as they showed up.
I think that might be why gloaming never got the morning treatment. Dusk is shared. Street and porch lights come on, kids head home, and everyone agrees the day is ending. This is different. It happens for those who are looking for it and it’s gone before there’s time to call anyone else outside.
And no amount of polite barking can convince it to stick around.