https://Voice.club - The sun begins to crest over the beach. If I hurry, I can capture its ascent.
Shoes slipped on, I ease quietly out the door, careful not to awaken any of the members of the family still asleep in our vacation cottage.
This has been my beach ritual for years. The early morning hours are my alone time, my meditation, my renewal. Everyone knows that these few minutes are a time I have grown to love, vital to my day.
Today takes on a different hue. Lura, my 6-year-old daughter, has pleaded to accompany me, questioning, “What do you do that is special? Why can’t I share this adventure with you?” Today I acquiesce.
We tiptoe hand in hand down the wooden boardwalk to step with anticipation into sand warmed by yesterday’s sun.
I caution Lura, “Remember, we must be quiet and not disturb the creatures just waking up.” I know her tendency is to run chattering along the beach bursting with delight.
Sanderling and plover scurry in the surf before us, frantically pecking at airholes left by sand crab and periwinkle trying desperately not to be breakfast.
Salt tang in the air draws eyes and thoughts upward, while waves washing over our feet keep us grounded.
The sun majestically rises, spilling purple and pink over both sea and sky, and Lura, tense with the effort of having to be still, takes its picture. Mission accomplished, we turn toward the house which tempts us with the aroma of coffee and the promise of pancakes.
We ascend to the deck and rinse the sand from our feet. Lura looks up at me and I smile, asking, “Well, would you like to wake up early tomorrow and walk with me again?”
She emphatically shakes her head, pigtails swinging. “No. It was fun, but I think I would rather sleep in.” Smiling, I give her a hug.