My name is the great irony of my life. Don’t get me wrong – I love the dawn; it’s a beautiful and magical time of day (especially if you’ve got a camera in your hand). It’s just that I’m a night owl by nature and mornings don’t come easy for me. My sixteen-year-old son runs cross country, which currently forces me out of bed before 6 a.m. twice a week. I really love walking outdoors in the still of early morning, although I can’t seem to manage it those other five days of my own free will.

Saturday morning we left before sunrise for a cross country meet that was a good distance from home. At 8:30 we joined the runners and a mix of spectators to walk the mile-and-a-half course before the race began. Toward the end, my four-year-old daughter and I lagged behind the pack as we searched for a never-found stick in the bottom of her sandal, and that is when the early morning light began to work its magic and the camera came off of my shoulder.

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Old stone chimneys fascinate me, standing in silent tribute of homes and times that are no more. I wonder what stories they would tell if they could speak. As my daughter and I walked, we made our way towards a pair of them, facing each other on the edge of the course. Her questions echoed my own:

What happened to the house?

Who lived here?

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This fence ran beside the house and made me think of one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, “Mending Wall”:

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall…

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I was blessed with very sweet one-on-one time with my daughter, some picture-perfect moments, and ideal weather. My son shaved 30 seconds off of his best race time, so the day was quite successful in that regard, too.

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