As I lie here I can feel the chill of the early morning mist in my bones. The sky is painted with the purple hues of a night awakening from a deep slumber. The moon is still hanging high, patiently waiting for the first leak of light. Silence. Silence, interrupted by the crash of the waves upon the shore. In this tranquility I can curl my toes in the moist sand and clear my mind, washing my thoughts away with the waves. This peace will soon be broken as the water comes alive with the bustling of people on day trips, eager to bare some skin. But this moment, as the sun groggily rises, is a fresh beginning. Golden tones begin to melt into the purples. It's a canvas of color, a performance for my eager eyes. I am alone with this treasure.

I spot a crab scurrying through the sand across from me. The beach is slowly stirring, shaking off the darkness of the night. The palm leaves rustle in the breeze. That's when I hear the first footsteps: an elderly woman with a basket, out for the early catch, is leaning toward the sand to grasp the glistening gems she seeks. As she raises a shell to her ear, her eyes twinkle. Perhaps it brings back fond, tucked-away thoughts of her childhood. I can hear it too – that ringing, the movement of the sea right next to your ear. She never notices me. She is searching for something lost, trying to find herself in these sands like the rest of us.

Dawn stirs not only the beach, but me as well. Mornings are for the productive. I can't lie still; I must bathe in the sunlight and soak in the blue sea. I let the sea foam caress my toes and awaken my mind, body, and soul. Tiny fish are swimming in rings around my feet, and their faint touch keeps the winter morning numbness from settling in. As I raise my gaze to the horizon, I make out the first boat of the day. Out for the early catch, just like the rest of us. We're all searching for something on this beach.

Now a jogger passes by with his Newfoundland pup. A couple roams the beach hand in hand. A little boy with a fishing rod races toward the shore; his father struggles to catch up.

Soon this will be a hub of laughter, sunscreen, and tanning tourists. This is my cue to leave. My secret hour with the water and wind has come to an end.