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A Quiet Place

There was no broad stretch of highway crowded with cars full of eager beachgoers, just a two-lane road cutting through a canopy of trees.  There were no souvenir stands, just one small general store.  There were only a handful of restaurants, and, in fact, only one bar on the entire island, and it was a 10-minute drive away.  Getting to the beach was a matter of stepping out of the apartment and walking a few hundred feet, to the edge of the Gulf.

But, those walks led me to some of my fondest memories.  For the two weeks I spent on this island every summer, I would make that walk almost everyday.  However, my favorite walks happened before the sun rose.  I would drag myself out of bed; throw on a bathing suit and sandals and, with my father and often at least one of my siblings, head out the door.

We would make our way along sandy pathways, the last hints of nighttime starting to fade away.  As we neared the Gulf, the sand beneath our feet became increasingly gravelly, its grains combining with broken bits of seashells.  With the beach all but deserted, I would take a seat on the sand and focus my attention on the horizon ahead.

Typically, this would happen just in time for the sunrise.  The light would peer over the horizon, illuminating the sky around it.  I would sit there – in silence – and just watch.

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