Shore Mornings

Some days he loved to just lie in bed, tangled in the sheets, head buried deep within the comfort of a pillow.

But today wasn't one of them.

When he sat up in bed, he was drenched. Confused. Outside his window the sun had just begun to crest above the horizon. It was barely morning. He was uncomfortable - soaked in sweat. The air was  beyond muggy. The humidity made it hard to breath. He swore he'd be able to cut it with a knife, swim through it - completely unrelenting. The ceiling fan just droned on above him, choking on the thick air, unable to circulate it. Peeling himself from his sheets, he stumbled through the house. The early morning light was pouring in everywhere it could - under door frames, in between blinds, reflecting off surfaces. It burned. His eyes throbbed - they weren't ready for it. Standing near the door, he rubbed them for a few moments, pressing his palms firmly against his eyelids. Massaging them awake, back to life. When he opened them, the world wasn't so loud anymore. It was manageable. Looking to his left, he noticed it was only five forty-five. It was too hot. Too humid. Too bright.

There was no way he was going back to bed.

By the time he made it out to the dock, his body had finally begun to wake up. His head no longer throbbed, his eyes had stopped screaming, and the smell wafting from the cup of coffee in his hands only expedited the process.

It was mornings like these that surprised him. When he could sit on the edge of the dock, feet dangling off - toes only dipping into the water when they were at the lowest point of their swing. Off in the distance he could tell the town was just beginning to wake up. He could see the fisherman making their way back to port - boats filled with an early morning catch. Doors were beginning to open amongst the shops. The occasional pedestrian could be seen walking down to the local bakery to grab a bagel and the day's paper. As the sun continued to climb above him, the seagulls began to leave their nests. Soaring above the bay, looking for their next meal. Chittering and calling to one another - laughing back and forth as if enthralled in a conversation. The flapping of their wings echoed out over the water, not yet drowned out by the engines of the oncoming tourists. They were still at least a few hours away. Cars loaded with coolers, beach toys, sunscreen, and towels - tearing down the expressway, eager to get to their final destination.

He could picture the beaches. Gentle morning waves lightly lapping at the shore. A haze still hovering over the water. It was early enough that the lifeguard chairs were still probably tipped over, up by the dunes - not yet dragged to the water's edge. Only a few dedicated locals would have wandered out of their homes by now to claim their spot on the sand.

The more he sat there, the more he realized how much he truly enjoyed living on the shore and the beautiful mornings it provided. Listening to water in front of him, tasting the salt lingering in the air, feeling the sun beat against his skin. It wasn't always easy waking in time.

But when he did - there was nothing more perfect.