The dawn crests behind a tall cluster of hemlocks: spraying the sky with its light, it creates a gradient from a cold yellow to a delicate blue. The clouds are thin strips of cotton, laid lovingly on in front of the increasing blue backdrop, and fade away as the morning deepens.
Above me, I can hear birds swoop and dive in the frosty air; they exalt in the quiet, the freedom, they have before their kingdom is overtaken by human visitors. The sea laps at the rocky beach in front of me, tickling pebbles down into its depths, and ducks paddle lazily across the lagoon, uttering an occasional ‘quack’ at my presence.
The air is crisp: it hardens my face and chills my movements. As I inhale, it ices my throat. Nevertheless, it’s my favorite time of day: a time where the world is subdued, welcoming; there are no screeches and honks of passing cars, nor patches of scorching sunlight: rather, there are the chirps of birds making their nests, and waves of gold stretching toward me, gradually encapsulating me in its gilded light. It’s a time to rest, to catch up, where time may not stand still for you but will certainly slow down.
Behind the trees are clouds in shades of indigo and violet: they peek through their branches, glinting off of the water in sparkles of purple. As I sit here on a frosted log, the purple is turning to gray.