We’re north of Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico.
First evening sunset.
All photos: PKR
The place we’re staying is directly on a small beach. Well, ‘small’ is probably the wrong word.
It doesn’t have a poetic name, it doesn’t have majestic cliffs, it doesn’t have any fancy restaurants or hotels or activities.
It’s just a regular, small, coastal beach on the Pacific Ocean. My favorite.
Small but filled with the sky. 
Pre-dawn on the summit of Haleakala, Maui.
All photos: PK Read
What is it about watching the sun come up and watching the sun go down?
After all, it’s just a way of watching the planet turn in its usual way, day after day. 
At least for me, watching a sunrise, and watching a sunset, never gets old.
Each one the fundamentally the same, each one unique.
On our last day in Maui, we made the early trek up to the summit of Haleakala.
We left our hotel 3 a.m., arriving at the top of the mountain around 5 a.m., and then waited patiently in the blistering cold as the stars in the clear skies above gave way with excruciating slowness to the bruised purples and reds of pre-dawn. 
As ever more people arrived, we wondered whether the entire undertaking was really worth it.
The long drive over from the western shore, the frigid temperatures, the biting wind that blew away all memory of the coast below, hidden beneath a layer of coastal clouds as if in another world, a dream world of beaches and balmy breezes.
And then, the clouds were limned with orange and gold, the sun broke through, a collective sigh arose from the crowd, quickly followed by the chirps and clicks of a hundred cameras.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did.
Daybreak, again, always new. And then, the drive back down the mountain, with stops to look at the blasted crater, the tumbles of volcanic rock, the carpets of vegetation that reclaim the land, over and over.
The day was bookended by the sunset, always predictable and never the same.
The Earth turns, the sun disappears behind the horizon, same procedure as yesterday and tomorrow, and I never tire of it.
Sunset off the coast of Wailea, Maui.
And don’t even get me started on moon watching…
Sunrise and sunset on the solstice.
To the east, the sun breaks a new day above the sharp peaks of the young Alps.
To the west, the day comes to its end as the sun sets behind the gentle slopes of the ancient Jura range.
Welcome, splendid Winter.
On an evening run last night, the sky was blazing while the meadows and paths held strange flying carpets of white. 
Autumn is creeping in, leaving the first tentative misty patches at ground level before the great fogs of winter settle over the Lake Geneva basin. 
Time to prepare for the upcoming season. And so I ordered my Whisky Advent Calendar 2013 for this year. There are two versions, ‘regular’ and ‘premium’. 
Yes, I cheated and took a peek at the the contents of the ‘regular’ set of 24 little bottles, and was satisfied enough that I ordered that rather than the more expensive ‘premium’. After all, I’d like to try drams of whiskies I could conceivably afford to buy should I take a fancy to one. A friend ordered the ‘premium’, and I look forward to her detailed reports and recommendations.
But mostly, I look forward to sharing the 24 Advent drams with my husband over the course of a December that will hopefully be filled with more blazing skies than thick layers of fog.
I ordered my calendar here. There is also a Gin Advent Calendar, as well.
A little autumn music for the season:
