Sunrise (1st of the Beach Trilogy)

Early morning walkers

in the darkness that comes just before the light

Do they walk every day at the same time?

Or do the seasons dictate?

The low gray clouds hover over the placid water

Like a mother hovering over her small children

Watching, protecting, sensing

But keeping a slight distance

On the pier a single man-made light

Pierces the darkness

Beneath it are shrimpers and fishermen

Preparing for a day’s work

The tide gently laps against the sands

So gently that you could fall asleep to the sound

But soon the tide will be angry

There is a storm coming tonight

The sun is trying to break out

The gray clouds will not have this

They are like small children, tussling and tossing

Playing a game of tag or maybe “not it”

A least tern scoots across the ground

Pecking, pecking, pecking at the sand

For what?

I don’t know

The sun finally tires of playing with the gray clouds

In a flash of its brilliant orange

It conquers, it overwhelms

Bleaching the clouds to a pure white

The sun has won today

But what of tomorrow?

After all

A storm is coming