As it had done ceaselessly for the last 4 billion years, the sun crept above the horizon. Turning the indigo sky shades of orange and yellow—along with a river of bright white darting out across the ocean’s surface—the golden orb signalled the dawn of a new day.
Bats turned in and birds awoke, beginning an ornithological orchestra that fell on deaf ears. A breeze arrived, whipping up the sand whimsically before mindlessly dumping it and moving on. A mother oystercatcher admonished her chick—high-pitched life lessons screeched squawked up and down the beach. Dark clouds in the distance, initially a churning of greys, dissolved, defeated by the arrival of a stern southerly. No one was around to record or reminisce, these repeated scenes unseen by human sentience, a morning left to unfurl without perspective nor preconceptions.
Yet—and yet—as eyes pass over these words, experience itself cannot escape the morning breeze.
