Every Morning

I am remembering
our recent camping trip
to Lake Michigan,
how we woke early
to walk to the beach
in the dawn barely light.

It seemed we were
the only ones awake,
the campground so still
and dark.
But when we got to the water
there were already
ten or twelve people
all waiting
in silent reverence,
facing east,
watching mesmerized.

Only the feel of sand
on our feet, warm coffee
on a chill morning,
only the steady calm
sound of the waves.

Then the pinks and oranges,
purples and blues,
and all the unnameable hues,
glowing rays
through the clouds,
spreading across
the whole sky,
the lake reflecting
its own interpretation
over its surface.

Suddenly, the orange sun
just a sliver on the horizon
and the sound of all of us
ahhing our communal joy.
On it rose
and surprisingly fast.

The day had begun.
We made our way
back to the campground
to refresh our coffees,
to begin our various days,
the glow reflected
inside us now.

By Maria Brady-Smith