Sunrise

I was early for my bus this morning. I decided to walk down to the beach for a few moments while I waited.

There was a curious rose tint to the Western edges of the sky, over the town, shading into peach along the slice of sea horizon I can see from the laneway. I walk out over the sandy pathway towards the beach and the Eastern sky is suddenly visible.

I stop short, openmouthed.

Where the coastline falls away there is a vast expanse of choppy Atlantic-blue ocean, and just on the line of the horizon is a pinprick of brilliant light. The sun.

The bowl of the sky is clear and empty, but scattered in an arc just above the beginnings of the sun there are clouds, fringed with the same brilliant light. They stand out, outlined, as though the sky were an ice sheet that had begun to crack, small gold-edged icebergs breaking free.

As I stand and watch the sun rises out of the ocean, before my eyes. I can see it happen, the moment when it detaches from the horizon, the last thread of fire holding it earthbound broken.

I have a need to describe what I saw, I'm searching for a way, but there aren't words. Whomever created our language did not spend enough time watching the sky dance. Most mornings I find myself lost in awe, watching things of indescribable beauty unfurl themselves across the firmament. Like the truth of all life is written there. I burn with a need to share it, but I can't, I can't...

There just aren't words.