The Day the Sunrise Didn´t Rise

My bedroom is the best one in the house, the one that the beloved grandfather stayed in for a year while he was fixing up the house in the vineyard. A few night´s ago, I woke at 3 am to lay and look out the two patio doors into the night. The bulbs of the street lights glow below the tops of the trees that are hanging onto the fans of seeds that cover the branches of the tree. The top half moon of the globe is silver and so the light is deflected downward as well.

I go back to sleep and then wake later to see the daylight coming. I have to go out to the patio to see the sunrise. The pinks and reds come and go in less than five minutes.

This morning I decided to take my camera and walk down to the sea to watch the sun rise over the Mediterranean. Bonnie was at a cousin-sleepover elsewhere. I woke Joaquim to let me out the door, since it was locked.

Some men and women had beat me out onto the streets. They were on their way to work. Shopkeepers were washing the sidewalks in front of their bars and restaurants. A man delivering a dolly full of vegetables was knocking on the tin walls of a kiosk on the beach.

I sat in the sand and waited for the sun to rise.

Daylight came. I didn´t seen the gold of the sun for the mist was heavy in the sky. I entertained myself by training my camera on the waves that were breaking at my feet and tried to catch them as they pick up sand and bring it closer to shore, at the same time dashing their small white bubbles along the perimenter of where the water meets the sand.

A lovely morning.

Arta