Years ago my mom gave me a book called "Always We Begin Again." It's a little book filled with big notions—short meditations on living deliberately. I wish I could say I read it daily, but mostly it sits on a shelf. Every once in a while, I do read through it, but more often than that the title catches my eye and offers a subtle reminder that tomorrow will always bring with it a fresh start. Sometimes that's all I need to get through a tough day.
Watching sunrise gives me similar comfort, reinforcing the fact that no matter what is happening in my small life, the world resets the same way each morning with a stunning, dramatic burst of light and energy. Always we begin again.
Last week I made my second trek of the year to Colorado. (The first was in February for my sister's amazing mountain wedding. You can view those posts here, here and here.) This was a solo trip to recharge my batteries, so naturally I dragged my sister out of bed at 4:30 a.m. and hauled her up to Red Rocks Amphitheatre to watch the sun rise over the Denver skyline and the plains.
We wove up the road to the amphitheater in the dark, greeted by a couple of deer grazing next to the road. By the time we climbed the stairs to the top, the sky looked a little something like this.
We were so content with this sky that we forgot the sun hadn't even made an appearance yet and were pleasantly surprised when an orange disc arrived on the horizon just behind the skyline.
In the foreground of these images you can see the famous red sandstone surrounding the amphitheatre. In the middle sits the Dakota Hogback, a ridge that divides the Rocky Mountains from the Great Plains. The Great Plains spread from there to the horizon.
I threw on my zoom lens to capture the image below of the skyline (as well as the top photo).
My sister taking in the view.
Once the golden hour of soft light set in, we made our way down the steps and back to the city. To begin again.
I'm Julia Soplop. I've spent my life documenting the world around me in writing and photography. I believe there is something profound in bearing witness to moments of joy and pain in others’ lives. My husband, three girls and I live outside of Chapel Hill, NC. You can read more about me here.