This is my favorite time of the morning, when the beauty of the ocean just outside my windows coyly reveals itself. When I first took my coffee out to the lanai, I was surrounded by a night pierced only by radiant stars and the occasional headlights of a poor soul driving by on his way to work. Waves broke on the sand in a womb-like, muted roar. And then slowly, teasingly, the faintest of lines separating the water and sky emerged. Just a hint, really, a slight distinction between black and blue, so nearly imperceptible that I fixated upon it, stared at it, and wondered if I was imagining it.
Before my coffee had even cooled enough to drink, the faint line became vivid as the horizon lit up with the crimson herald of the rising sun. For the briefest of moments, it looked as if the world was on fire. Streaks of orange and red shot through the black sky and bounced on the water, and everything joined in this one moment in time to celebrate and reflect the dawning of a new day.
To think that this very thing has happened for countless days, billions of years, and nothing has taken away one iota of its magic, its beauty. The same brilliance that I see today fascinated and awed my ancestors, and theirs before them, all the way back to when the first man sat on the threshold of his cave and pondered the enormity of the night sky.
6:49:03 AM ; 
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