as dawn becomes day

Dawn washes across the sea like a benediction.

Shadows seep away, sliding across sand like revelers heading home.  The sky lightens, turquoise streaked with blush-colored clouds.

Flush from the horizon cloaks morning people in a glow.  Homeless men under the pier have faces smoothed like those of napping children.  An old man readying for his morning swim, stretching slowly down and up, and a young man meditating cross-legged on the sand, are heroic figures.  A woman with ebony skin shining against a white dress, braids lifting in the breeze, is a perfect Venus rising from the sea.  Teenage girls stride by, surfboards tucked under lanky arms; in their extreme self-possession boasts the courage of Amazon warrior women.

A seagull, heading north, hangs in mid-air, suspended on a stream of stiffer wind.
Black-tipped wings hold it, floating, compass steady—beauty in motion going nowhere.

The sun cracks the horizon.  Jarring light bounces off hotel windows.  Edges hardening, the day clicks into focus, solid and substantial.


One of the homeless men sprays steaming pee into the ocean.

The surfer girls sneer at onlookers.

The meditating man stretches his cramped legs.

The old man shuffles toward the surf.

The girl in white isn't a girl.

The seagull flies away.

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© 2004 Lauran Strait