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I find, when the occasion presents itself, that certain beauties are found only when the world is stirring. The Earth is always moving, always changing from spring to fall and back again—though most of the time spent by its inhabitants seems to be in a rather unkempt stasis. It seems I am too often comforted by the ease of routine and expectation; in the simplest of terms, always understanding that the sun is to rise. I believe that we do not often make the conscious effort to know the novelties of the world around us, when the faculties that would be aware of such things are constantly wrapped in some other, less surprising focus. A disruption from our moments of comfort draws out the rawest examinations of life. As disaster proves the existence—or lack thereof—of blessing, so too does even the smallest intentional flight from anticipated workings.
I found myself at such a crossroad as I woke early one morning, about a fortnight ago, my skin seemingly already perspiring from the warm South Carolinian air, prepared to expose the Earth and all her beauties with the utmost intention. The sky was a dark shade of lavender, though a description of old lavender would be more exact I suppose; and I spotted clouds from where I slept, their usually white shade darkened to that of a charcoal gray with the absence of the approaching dawn. I wore simple clothes, with my leather satchel across my chest, and with brown sandals that I imagined I’d slip on as I walked out the door. It seemed to me that my rising was fast enough, but already the majority of my accompanying party had departed in eagerness (or impatience), leaving my partner Caroline and I alone to tail after them.
And so we pursued, seemingly tracking the other five members of our party as a hound might, whereas I imagine I might’ve spied their wind-blown footprints in the sand had I paid closer attention. I had yet to fully awaken, apparently still stirring, my choices for the first several minutes being that of instinct, all of which I imagine I still would’ve replicated had I been completely awake. My break from stasis had yet to be achieved; I was continuing my day, early as it may be, as any other day. It was a rather direct path from our temporary home to the beachfront, and we rode bicycles, myself making sure to act out the correct hand signals at each turn, performing them for the busy roads filled with zero cars. The relatively cool wind that the bike’s speed pushed against my skin woke me further, and it was a short time before we had parked the vehicles at the beach entry’s edge, locking them to each other with a four-number combination bike lock. We had thought, both this morning and other times similarly, that only a foolishly determined thief would manage to haul off two or more connected bikes, of which we figured we’d not have the chance to meet on such a relaxed and quiet place as Folly Island.
The first expedition of our party trod further ahead, their ambling squad not more than 100 meters away. Caroline and I made no attempt to give chase, instead following at an equally relaxed pace. The sand of the beach, which we now walked across, was mostly damp, the previous high tide being only a few hours hence, and the sun’s absence let the soaked sand extend its current state. We would pause every so often to inspect a shell that stood out from the rest, digging it out from the firm wet shroud. There were plenty of shells, most broken, though many intact, their various browns, whites, and surprising pinks and reds peeking out from their covers of sand. We found several that interested us, stowing them in our previously sand-free pockets. We found it strange how our leading group progressed, as they aimed for the local pier, considering how a more direct route could’ve been taken from the start. We had walked nearly 200 meters down the beachfront, at the start of which we had initially worried the sunrise might be missed. But the sun remained hidden as we reached the steps of the pier, as we ascended them, and as we took our spot halfway down the long wooden path.
There were synthetic wood chairs dotting the pier, along with wooden gazebos built at regular intervals along its length, their central positioning allowing for any rain-caught individual to make quick refuge. And though I had at first thought to take up a position on one of the many chairs myself, we were quick to spot other wanderers already seated, their eyes directed forward, intent to catch the first rays of light as they broke through the horizon. Elbows forward, hips back, and head tilted upwards, we stood.
The positioning of the sun’s arrival was a point of conjecture with members of our group—an argument of which I tried not to become too involved in—and compasses were displayed to find the most likely spot. It was not as easy to ignore the discussion, what with certain members being so passionate about cardinal directions and a compensation for true north, and despite our original intent for the morning being that of actually experiencing the sun, it instead became a debate for how and when and where the sun might be best experienced. As a theorist fails at the most simple physical tasks, we too failed to keep sight of what most mattered.
The sun rose, but we were not too fast to notice, as our compasses had yet to prove our theories and we had continued to assess them. We were on the eastern edge of South Carolina, the coast of which sits at a near-perfect northeast orientation, and the pier jutted out perpendicularly; we imagined that the sun would rise just off to the left (that being east) of the pier’s end. Our compasses slightly swayed our estimates, as east was purported to be further north than we had expected. I was amazed when the sun actually did rise, the actual event being more honest and effective than any possible estimation could be, as the red orb rose just off the coast towards what I had thought was north. At its arrival, we quickly stowed our instruments and looked on, determined to experience as much as we could.
With the sun finally risen, all of the former arguments and debates and the relative tardiness of our arrival vanished from my mind. This event having been my teacher, I was taught how no amount of discussion can make up for the details an actual experience can offer you. Even now I am panged with guilt and embarrassment, and I imagine my compatriots are as well, with the acknowledgement that such a simple task had been perverted by our foolish human minds. I resorted to trying to absorb as much as the remaining hours of dawn would allow, staring as directly at the emerging sunlight as I could, feeling it shine on my arms and legs. You could claim that members of our party had attempted to continue the cardinal debate, but I wouldn’t know any better, what with my mind so closed off to all that had previously mattered. It had no consequence now. Though, I guess that any such discussions never do have consequence, at least of substance, and to argue for a debate’s existence would be hopeless. What mattered then was the sun, nothing more, nothing less.
With only one thought on my mind I became witness to all that the dawn and its sunrise had to offer; the breakers of the ocean echoed in my ears and the whitecaps seemed to jump higher than any I had seen before. There were crowds down on the beach, for we stood several meters above them, and they all looked in the same direction, their cameras pointed towards the famous star, as if they’d be able to capture it any better than the naked eye can. There were gulls awake, flying above us, chortling at my initial ignorance of the Earth. The shells I had previously stowed, now seemed to hum with an unmatchable aura, the mollusks that once resided in them saying more in passing than a compass or map ever could.
The sun rose, the clouds lightened, and the sky became a pale blue that I knew would continue till the sun hid itself once more. Just as quickly as I had begun to experience the beauty around me, soaking in the quiet moments of the morning, the feeling vanished. I don’t recall if another compass-based debate had begun anew, or if we had already begun to plan out our day—nothing mattered more than the absence of what I had been so surprised to feel. Even now I seek out such moments, seemingly experiencing them by chance, and losing them far too soon. Though I try to describe such a moment, with its raw beauty and innocence, with the feeling of an understanding of the Earth, I know that it isn’t possible. The sun was as gentle with me as it was with you, as it will be with you. For a moment I was but a silent, active participant of one of the world’s many miracles.
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