Morning One

My toes are squished in the sand. There are probably stars out tonight, but through the cloud cover, I can't see them. The only things awake are the ocean--waves pounding onto shore ten yards in front of me--the lunula of the moon, and me. There is no lightness in the sky in one direction, telling me that the sun is ready to wake up. It's just me, Poseidon and Selene.

I would send you a picture, friends, but there is nothing to capture. I found my way down here by the glow of my cell phone, and will have to wait until the sun peeks over the peaks behind me to walk back.

It is a glorious morning. Humidity is low, probably in the sixties. The breeze can hardly be called cold, whipping through my bed head hair in the mid seventies. Did I mention that there is a chorus of palm trees singing with the waves? They whisper quietly, heard only in the rare moments that the tide falls out, away from my toes.

When Sun comes up, he will be on my left, though the morning clouds will almost certainly block his rays. Not that it matters. The sky will blaze into a fire of colour--pink, yellow, orange and blue--and the tiny world here will fall awake.

I don't mind that I'm a little premature. This time n the sand is good for my soul and every moment is breathtaking.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry