Drowning in Daybreak

Drowning In Daybreak



I wonder if it's possible to drown in the sweeping tide that rushes in with the break of day. Watching the landscape emerge from the early morning mist as the sun climbs up over the horizon is an experience that sits on the outer edge of beauty's precipice.

Whitetail deer graze with such muted gracefulness, brown rabbits race across the meadow, and the birds speak to each other in a comforting gibberish. I slip into my book, here in the quiet tangle of tall trees where the only civil unrest is caused by a fox asserting his boundaries and black crows bicker over wild raspberries. Leaning forward, I see tiny black ants scurry about the flooring of the deck, avoiding collision as they intersect and swerve artfully.

It is here at this early hour of the day with its tree rustling breezes and the single bumblebee flying in circles around my half empty cup of coffee that daybreak warms my recollection of the chilly spring morning when my mother was buried beneath the towering evergreens, and the bleak winter day when my father joined her.