Sunrise

Could there be a more perfect start to a day?

Last night I went to bed with the intention of watching the sun rise over the ocean. I wake up shortly after five. It is still dark, and it would be so easy to just turn over and go back to sleep. 'Only a few minutes more', I think. And, 'the sun will rise again tomorrow'. But my inner voice isn't to be silenced that easily: sunrise is not that far away, after all, and who knows what will be tomorrow?

It is close to high tide, and the beach stretches empty in front of us when we arrive around 5:30. A single set of footprints in the firm, wet sand: a man who overtook us on the road, carrying a fishing reel. A young woman passes us unhurriedly, stops at a higher part of the beach, does a few stretches and sits down to do her morning meditation.

The bare-throated tiger heron we have seen on previous visits to the beach has taken up his spot on the huge rough rocks. Head and neck stretched out he stands totally still, a sculpture outlined against the pale apricot sky. While we sit and watch a skein of pelicans flies overhead. Three of them drop down and land in the water, just far enough from the shore to enjoy the slow rocking of the waves without being thrown about by the surf. Nothing else is moving.

Slowly the sky is getting lighter. The bank of clouds on the horizon takes on a faint golden glow around the edges. For a moment we are fooled, thinking the sun is waiting right behind it, until a glimmer of deep crimson appears to its left, almost right across from where we are standing. It grows amazingly fast, and in no time at all the whole burning circle of light is suspended above the horizon.

5:50 am – the sun has risen!