Morning without Fear

I spent a weekend in a writer’s workshop earlier this year. It was a wonderful time facilitated by Patrice Gopo. patricegopo.com There was a writing sprint – 12 prompts in one hour. I don’t write that fast, but others can. One prompt sticks in my mind: Who’s responsible for your mother’s suffering? Go ahead. Spend five minutes on that.

But that’s not what this post is about. It comes from a different prompt. Describe a morning that you woke up without fear. I really wanted to get this writing out to you months ago, as I felt good about what I wrote. But I had to find that photograph that directed my writing, and had to be a part of my story.

Finally found it today, and so friends, here’s a story.

I arise from my warm bed, into the darkened beach house. I switch on the coffeemaker, and silently leave the house filled with snores and slumber. Stepping onto the high deck, overlooking the ocean, standing on boards weathered by sun and spray, I look towards the horizon. Only a glimmer of the dawn to come, the lighter grey making only the slightest division between water and sky. I lower my eyes to the beach below, and slowly make my way down the stairs to the sand.

Walking in the boundary between water and solid sand, my senses are taking in the sounds and smells of the surf. The caress of the water across my feet, and the warm offshore breeze carrying the earth and the bayou out to sea.

Walking northward along the beach, the brighter part of the sky behind me, I view the liminal space between sand and water. The shiny light grey of the water washing up the beach. Transforming into a patchwork, and then fading to the dark sand.

No one else is witnessing this scene. This is for me, only.

Up and over each groin, jutting rocks out past the surf, the futile attempt to hold onto the sand. Ever so slowly, the sky’s color changes – grey, giving way to lavender. The ocean’s color, reflecting the sky also changes. The purple water, fringed in the white foam, pushing its way up the beach fades into darkness. I continue to walk, over groin and over groin.

Purple giving way to dimmest shade of orange. Water, sometimes purple, and sometimes orange shushes its way up the beach, like a parent comforting a child. I look back towards where the sun will eventually rise, much brighter than before to my dark adjusted eyes. As if my attention had been called, the first flight of pelicans tuck themselves below the wave top. Effortlessly gliding, nestled in the boundary.

Lighter still, water and sky, I turn back. Groin after groin, I walk back. The seagulls harsh call awakens. Walking up the stairs, quietly filling a mug with the dark brew, silently stepping back onto the porch, I sit down in the pastel blue rocking chair.

Steam lightly fogs my glasses, still waiting for the sunrise.

Watching carefully for the triangular fin that announces the dolphins.

Quietly waiting for my lover to join me on the porch.

Thanks for hanging in there – there are more stories coming soon.