We come to the beach, packed with sunscreen and family in tow. Two days, 14 hours of windshield time. We trudge mile by mile.
Finally, we build castles in the sand, eat shrimp by the pound and let the surf pound at our bodies and feet.
And each morning, long before another eye has fluttered to life, I rise without alarm and tiptoe to my beach.
Yes, it's the same sand and the same salty sea, yet it brings a whole new purpose in these first minutes of daylight. This is the gift to the early riser. This sea reminds us and promises us of a power greater than ourselves. It washes over us, puts us in our place. It's a small crowd, a gathering really. Each honoring our beach and holding tight the reasons we come; the reasons we seek and gladly accept the early invitation.
The fisherman, the gatherer of shells, the pondered and the runner. We join together in solitude and quiet reverence to this sea and this beach. Soon the toddlers, kites and coolers will trickle in and invade. We won't put up a fight as an invasion to our space. We'll shift, into the rest of the day of vacation celebration, secretly waiting in anticipation for tomorrow's quiet start. Waiting to again unwrap our precious gift.
