I rise early, stumble around in the dark, and sneak out as quietly as I can so as not to wake the others. I drive in the direction of the beach searching through the recesses of my gray matter for the instructions the Park Ranger gave me yesterday to a beach parking lot, wondering if I should have written them down. Not to worry. I arrive just in time. Pre-dawn.
Morning is my time, whether I am on the beach, in the woods, or sitting at home with my laptop and cup of Joe. I feel most alive at dawn. A few kindred spirits join me in welcoming a new day: a man who stays at the top of the stairs with his cup of Joe, a father and son who play in the gentle waves, a mom with two daughters – all three still in pajamas, a gull.
The interplay of stones and sand and water requires no color for its expression of dawn.
Or does it?
The sun climbs higher making irresistible shadows.
It will be a glorious, clear-blue day.