Sunrise

I rise at 6:00 a.m. and decide to walk to the beach.

If I lived here, I think, I’d get up early every morning.

I sneak into Laila’s room to check on her. She is sleeping soundly. This is the first full-night’s sleep she’s had since we got here.

I tip-toe out. I make it to the door and hear a small whimper. I turn around. She is staring at me.

Ugh, I think, and wonder why I felt compelled to check on her.

I lift her up and put her in the baby carrier. We walk to the beach.

In From the Ground Up, Amy Stewart writes “If you ever wondered whether people at the seashore take it for granted after a while, let me tell you: We don’t. At least, I never have.”

When I lived here I took every opportunity to be near the ocean. I was busy with school and work, but I always found time. Sometimes it would be an early morning walk or a few moments in the evening. My favorite times became the times I went to the beach alone. I especially loved the beach in the winter. It’s chilly, but it’s almost empty, and it is still the same soothing sea.

When we get to the beach the sun is peeking over the horizon. The sky is pink and the ocean is an iridescent shade of turquoise blue. It is only that color in the early morning; by the time the sun fully ascends, it will be a dark, murky shade of blue.

I stare at the waves. I am captivated by them. Although I understand the science behind it, I am always amazed at the continuous ebb and flow of the tides, and the continuous motion of the waves crashing into shore. Constant and changeless, and constantly changing.

It is quiet. Laila babbles, but it is not the incessant chatter of a three-year-old. And when a baby talks, she doesn’t demand an answer. She is content to be snuggled close in the carrier. I give her a smile, and we listen to the sounds of the sea.

We watch the fishermen on the shore, and I wonder if they ever catch anything. But I realize that’s not the point. They arrive early in the day, before the noise of families and teenagers and college students lounging on the beach. They set up their rods and they sit on a cooler and wait. They stare out at the ocean watching the waves roll in for an hour or more, and they are “doing” something. If they manage to catch a fish, it’s a bonus. But even if they catch nothing, I bet they have a great time. I consider getting a rod and a reel and returning tomorrow.

We walk down the beach, and I swoop down to pick up a shark’s tooth. Connor will love it.

I remember being a small child and walking on the beach with my cousin Adrian. She had an eye for spotting shark’s teeth, and she had a mason jar full of them. I tried so hard, but I could never find them.

“Here’s one!” I’d exclaim excitedly, showing her a small black shell. She’d glance at it.

“That’s not a shark’s tooth,” she’d reply.

But how can she tell, I’d wonder.

It was many years before I found a shark’s tooth. When I was in high school and I worked on the beach, I finally figured out. Once I knew how to find them, I could spot them quickly. I’d often see them while pushing my lemonade stand down the beach. I’d pause long enough to pick it up. I developed quite a collection, including two that were about 1 ½ to 2 inches long. I don’t know where they are now; I had to put them away when Connor was a toddler. He was fascinated by them, and I often found them in the carpet.

Laila and I collect about 5-6 more teeth before leaving.

As we are leaving the beach, I hear an excited yell. I turn and see that a fisherman has caught a fish. I can’t tell what kind it is, but it appears to be 1 to 1 ½ feet long.

I smile, then head home.