My daughter, Hannah, and I stepped outside into a frosty 29° morning, a half-moon hanging in the sky. It was a waning gibbous, halfway between full and new. A shrinking moon. At 5:15, an hour before sunrise on Easter morning, we drove to Devil’s Backbone Open Space so we could hike to a good spot before the sun came up.
Sunrise. Easter. A double resurrection.
The irony of the area’s name and the significance of the day weren’t lost on me—Devil’s Backbone on Easter morning. The day I observe the resurrection of Jesus, in a place named after the enemy He conquered long ago. As I hiked the dusty trail that led to a keyhole in a massive rock—our sunrise-watching spot—I thought about the symbolism and meaning wrapped into the morning and the place where I stood.
Then, I set it aside and focused on my daughter and the pending sunrise.
My kiddo lives in Colorado, and I was spending the weekend with her—hiking, eating, shopping, talking—doing the things I love to do with her. The sunrise hike was her idea. She knew I’d appreciate its significance on what, for me, was a holy morning.
I was a little anxious about reaching the keyhole in time to see the sun come up. The trail began on lower ground, but the keyhole sat high enough for a clear view of the eastern horizon. The sky was beginning to glow—a pale tangerine bleeding into cornflower blue.
Just above the horizon, a strip of steel-blue cloud hovered. I thought it would add texture and drama to the sunrise. Clouds can be a perfect complement—not too many to block the sun, but just enough to catch the pinks, oranges, and reds of dawn.
In the eastern sky, Venus still shone brightly, holding its place as the second brightest object in the night sky, outshone only by the moon.
As we neared the keyhole, I noticed the clouds along the far horizon. They surrounded a patch of blue that resembled a bay of water. The surrounding clouds looked like mountains, and within the blue floated small clouds like bits of sea ice. The scene was mesmerizing, reminding me of something I once saw in the Gulf of Alaska.
I love the illusionary effects of nature—especially in the sky. There’s so much to imagine, even when it’s not there. I think clouds are nature’s greatest illusionists.
We arrived and sat in front of the keyhole, soaking in the sky’s slow transformation. We waited for the sunrise and listened to a meadowlark. Its melody was joyful and fitting for the morning’s significance: relationship, celebration, renewal, hope, joy.
First slowly, then suddenly, the sun appeared. Its brightness washed out the other colors and daylight overtook the sky like an unstoppable energy. It was magnificent.
We lingered near the keyhole, enjoying the natural beauty all around us. The jagged backbone rock formations were stunning and unique. Scrubby sagebrush and hedgehog cactus spread across the landscape. The birds were wildly active—we watched a pair of magpies flying in their deliberate, almost slow-motion way. I love to watch them and see them often when I visit Colorado.
Keyhole:
Perspective:
As we hiked away from our sunrise spot, we passed others just arriving. We’d had the privilege of watching the sunrise alone—just me and my kiddo. It felt like a gift, and I smiled to myself at the thought. Gifts of time alone with those I love are among my favorite things to unwrap.
The waning moon still hung high above the rocks, but Venus had disappeared. The sun was fully risen now, low in the eastern sky but dominating everything.
I looked back at the keyhole. It looked smaller now, and the opening was less visible. But it reminded me of another Easter miracle. An empty tomb. And as I walked away, my heart was filled with gratitude.
My daughter. Nature. A sunrise. A resurrection. Another day to live and love the beauty all around.
“… and lifting his hands he blessed them … and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him…”
