“Sleeping on the beach”

I don’t know how many words have been written about sunrises. Or how many paintings, or photographs. Or, in the age of video, how many times, from start to finish, Earth’s opening ritual has been captured. But seeing it with your own eyes is still seeing it for the first time. She arrived on the beach when it was still too dark to see the ground, bruising her blind feet on shells and rocks. She went forward until those feet felt the edge of the water and then sat on the damp sand. She felt the water come forward and go back, but couldn’t yet see it. It starts with a glow, really, making it look like its the sea which illuminates the Earth. Then a few golden-yellowish rays shoot forward, like sentries coming to see if this area is ready to be lit. Finally, the at-first indistinguishable shape begins to rise and, even with it’s tiny tip, can fill up the whole world with light almost immediately; it did this almost to let Martha know that it (and other things) were much bigger than her or this planet. She got the message and, only partly because of the Sun’s debut, her body began to warm.

Somewhere, almost 15 miles away, her daughter was knocking on her door because it was time to go to the doctor. More tests. Ha! Martha had, for weeks, contemplated writing her a letter. Telling her what it was and that, for centuries, whenever someone in their family had it, it had never been anything else then a slow, painful death. She wanted to tell her that you have to live life and not spend so much (or any) time worrying about the end, because it will end. Worry instead about the closeness of those around you and worry that today might send you the most beautiful moment you’ll ever have. But she didn’t write it, the letter, not one word. Because had her mother written such a letter before the screams of agony and writhes of pain began, Martha would’ve discarded it as the final senseless batherings of a dying old lady. The
girl
would have
to figure it
out for
herself and, hopefully
like Martha, just before
it became too late. The girl would have to figure it out for herself and, hopefully like Martha, just before it became too late.

The pills began to kick in and she felt the need to lie down, first resting her elbows on the sand, then bringing her whole body down. The soft, damp sand made a surprisingly comfortable bed and she wondered why she had never done this before, slept on the beach. Her eyelids grew heavy and she closed them for a moment. The red hue of the Sun was still visible in her mind and she quickly opened her eyes again to see it. Yes, she thought looking at the fully emerged Sun, it’s one sight we haven’t been able to ruin yet. She was drifting now and smiled because it didn’t hurt, not at all. Her last, pleasant thought was that they may never find her out here and that that was okay.