Sometimes, the sun will rise a certain way and I’ll think of you.
It’s pitch black. Empty. It’ll be cold outside and have a slight fog, but the kind that you know will clear up by 8:00. You can already tell from the early light that the day will be long, just like the day in late summer we shared our first moment.
You can’t see the sun rise from Los Angeles, but you can see the sky light up; gray at first, then light blue, then brighter blue. The dust of the ground somehow becomes more obvious.
The edges of the hills sharpen against the horizon. It’s no longer one big black wall. The mystery of the ocean becomes less foreboding as black waves turn to white wash and blue swells. It glistens now and invites you to adventure.
It’s silent other than the low roar of the morning breeze and a slight crash of the ocean far, far away. The occasional chirp reminds you you’re not alone.
The air is still cold, but the fog is clear now and there’s a promise of opportunity.
The day has begun. A new day. A full day.
There’s very little I wouldn’t give to have that day with you again.
