Photo essay

December Dawn

A single morning at a cabin, in ten frames.

Two hours, one cabin, one cup of coffee. The morning is the work of two photographers and one kettle.

Photographs by Annika Reuter and Sam Petralia.

A dark kitchen with only the small blue flame of a gas burner under a navy enameled kettle. The rest of the room is silhouette. — 5:47 a.m. The kettle is on. The kitchen light is not yet on. The first heat of the day is the cast iron of the stove.

Pale gray pre-dawn light coming through a small east-facing window onto wide pine floorboards, a small triangular patch of light on the floor. — By 6:10 the eastern window has admitted the first light. The triangle on the floor is the size of a hand.

An old wooden chair near a window, with a folded gray wool blanket draped over the back. Still, undisturbed. — The chair is where it was last night. The blanket is folded. The room has not moved.

A wooden bird feeder hanging in front of a window with a small black-capped chickadee perched on the edge. — The bird feeder, full from yesterday. The first chickadee announces itself.

A hand-thrown ceramic mug full of dark coffee, held near a window where condensation is just beginning to form on the inside of the glass. — The mug is the one with the chip on the lip. The window is still cold.

A medium-sized brown dog standing patiently at a wooden door, looking up at the handle. — The dog has been at the door for some time. She does not knock. She waits.

A weathered wooden porch railing catching the first warm orange light of sunrise, with a thin dusting of frost still visible on the top edge. — The porch rail in the first orange of sunrise. The night's frost is still on it.

A snow-covered path winding from a cabin toward a small boathouse near a frozen lake, a single line of dog tracks in the fresh snow. — The path to the boathouse, six inches of new snow, no track yet but the dog's.

The high gable end of a cabin in full warm morning light, the lower walls still in shadow. — By 7:55 the upper boards of the gable have caught the sun. The morning is officially someone else's.

A black cast-iron Dutch oven on a stove with onions just beginning to brown in olive oil, a hand visible at the edge with a wooden spoon. — The stew pot, beginning. Tonight is already accounted for, before nine in the morning.