i didn’t mean to see the sunrise, but the dark became less so as i lay thinking, fresh from dreams, cozily ensconced. One by one the stars bowed out, black fading into deep blue to backlight the trees where the birds began stirring. i heard the ocean constant, all through the night invisibly crashing against the solid shore. i thought of a festival drum circle: relentless, gradually enveloping new rhythms, still there in the morning.

The sun peeked and snuck over the mountains, tickling my face, then the ocean. You and i talked of dawn often, yet didn’t see any together. Light creeped across the sky, grey now. i wondered if any kind of together will happen again for us. i felt the warmth of morning sinking into my skin as i continued wondering: do i care, either way? Our most beloved star, introduced by her preceding light, rose to make a grand entrance into my visible sky. A memory is only as valuable as the emotions of its owner. i find in myself no strong feelings, only a detached appreciation of a shared joy passed. Of laughing and learning and your heavenly body. The way you shine. Nearly fully risen then the yellow-white orb triumphantly burst through the trees and lit the whole sky, glittering on the surf.

The clamor of the birds faded gradually as they set off toward breakfast and their flocks. So much shoreline, so little time. i dozed then, and dreamed that Cleo cried nearby. In waking i recognized a crow’s repeated call. As i became fully conscious, remembering that Cleo is no longer of this world (was she ever?) could have been devastating. Somehow i simply, naturally smiled. In her later years that cat would cry all morning for attention and food, beginning around dawn, and i would grumpily ignore her. A week since her passing and a few minutes past dawn, so clearly she cried in my hearing. At this i woke gently, nothing in my heart but warmth for what i can only imagine was Cleo’s goodbye.

i hadn’t planned to be up for dawn but i saw the whole damn thing. And then some. Everything dies, every day the sun rises. How much more can i ask for? To remain in the unknowing is a gift, a practice, and all i can do anymore.