At this hour of the morning, the beach is sacred and drenched in sunlight, but it is most of all deserted. Only a few pioneers venture out to meet the sunrise. As I sit in chilly sand, the blazing sun yawns over the horizon, warming the sleeping sand and waking my eyes. I am docile and calm turning over the warm sand, digging into the cold layers below. Blinking towards the water, I stand in reverence to begin my morning run. Before I go, I look out at the water and down the deserted beach; I can feel the live energy in the world this morning. Each stride liberates me as I venture further from the house. In the rhythm of my heaving breath and pounding feet against the sand, I become a part of the symphony. Like a sudden burst of energy the earth is alive with sound, crashing waves stretch to meet my ankles. Sweat trickles down my forehead, and I smile. My eyes search down the beach for another living soul and are happy to find no one. Feeling my bravery serge through my legs, I run down by the water. The wet sand traps my feet until a breath of ocean water comes to free them, I pause and look to the horizon. Further out in the calm ocean, a lone surfer sits in the still water, a pioneer like me. I watch him for a few moments in understanding; we are part of the same yellow morning. The sun is still rising as I run back towards my house; the morning is bleeding into the day and soon will no longer be recognizable. I pause in front of the house and find I am unable to let go. Standing with my feet in the water, the waves lap at my toes and pull me in until I can no longer resist. Sweat coats my body and I peel off my soaked shirt that was adhering to my skin. Before diving into the frozen ocean, I question my bravery. Memories of the ocean and its strength caution me and I am reminded of the danger of swimming alone. A breeze blows as if the beach is sighing with me and suddenly I am convinced and dive in.
March 28, 2011