One morning I walked along the shore on a favorite beach of mine. I still had a lingering cough from a recent illness. Breathing in the sea air felt good. There was a tiny glimmer of life in the far distance, a man and his dog, but that was all at this early hour.
The landscape feels truly primitive when I'm alone. I'm reminded of the massive shift in time when grains of sand sift through my fingers. Any worries I had that morning were caught up in the undertow and sucked away. I felt free.
I took another breath, deep and slow, and could taste the salt. There was a slight breeze on my skin that had a rhythm to it, echoing the ripples of the water itself. It was all in perfect harmony as I continued my ramble, dodging the incoming waves.
The old man and his dog passed by and we exchanged a friendly nod. It was like we both recognized the privilege of having this place to ourselves. Like we were a part of some secret society.
I walked unsteadily across smooth rocks, partially submerged, slippery with seaweed. Soon the first fingers of light gripped the horizon and edged their way upward. The texture of the sand stood up in sharp relief as the entire landscape morphed into a different version of itself.
Continuing its ascension, the sun forced its way past the thick marine layer and shone with all its might. I, standing by a cave-like structure, watched as the glow found its way inside the dark rock.
The breeze faded and the chill of dawn slid back into the shadows. It was time for me to leave. Morning had arrived and, at that precise moment, I knew it was going to be a good day.
My Adobe Spark (formerly Slate) presentation of this post is available here
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