Sunrise at Myrtle Beach

It's cold here this morning on the beach. Setting the clock back means the sunrise is now at 6:37 or so, but that's okay because I'm awake at 4:30. Flannel sheets on the bed along with the sudden warmth of the furnace that Denny turns on for me hold me captive for a while, but then Patches sees me stirring and knows that she'll soon be fed.

A quick glance out the windows tells me that there's a chance of a colorful sunrise as there are a few thin clouds near the horizon. It's way too early, so I use the mind-numbingly slow dial up service to check for e-mail while Patches curls up in my lap to warm her feet. The ceramic tile floor is freezing; sitting up so high on wheels the cold air circulates under the trailer and no amount of insulation ever keeps the tiles warm this early in the morning.

Denny is starting to stir, so I don't feel guilty about going into the bedroom to toss on some clothes and a fleece jacket. I grab the camera and head over to the beach where I find I'm the only one out there for as far as the eye can see. I'm the only person foolish enough to brave the chill, I guess. Pelicans graze the waves searching for breakfast while seagulls hover above my head, hoping for treats. A lone great blue heron passes directly overhead, stretched out like a missle with his pointed beak and long, long legs, looking to make a deadly strike upon some unsuspecting fish.

I'm still too early for the sunrise so I stand watching and listening to the surf, hoping to see some dolphins dancing in the distance. But today the only things out there are the olive green curls of surf topped with champagne bubbles. The rhythm of the waves is soothing and hypnotic, crash after crash coming with metronomic regularity. Then suddenly there's a pause as the ocean holds its breath and there's no sound of surf for the briefest nanosecond while time stands still.

And then we both breathe.

Another day has begun.