There's a very slim moment of time in between the departure of night and the breaking of dawn. It's a time when the earth is as it was when it was created: quiet, calm, unblemished by sounds not provided by nature. For those few moments, however short or long they may be, I can feel every heatbeat of mine fall in tandem with the wingbeats of the seagulls that soar above me. My pulse quickens with each screeching cry they make. As the waves rush toward me I breathe in deep, tasting salt and sand and seaweed with every sense, and breathe out again when the waves roll back into the ocean.
I've been here for awhile now, my toes buried deep into the mud left over from the tide going out, sitting on a folded up raincoat. With no tall buildings to block my view I was lucky enough to witness the sky before me turn from an inky black, to a bruise of deep purple and blue, to the watercolor canvas of pastel blue, yellow, and gold. No pictures are taken for Instagram, no hashtags of