My wife and I, and our two wonderful and beautiful boys, have been vacationing in Narragansett for the past three years. We stay at a dear friend’s house, a most charming ‘pink’ abode, nestled on a back street far removed from the bustle of the main drag.
As our boys remain locked in dreamscapes, we arise at the ungodly (un- Buddhaly?) hour of 5am. Exhausted as we are, we hurriedly make some coffee, don running apparel and a windbreaker (even though it is summer, the shore harbors early chills) and, under darkled skies, stumble to the car. From there, we navigate the black roads to Narragansett Beach and park along the avenue that leads to that magnificent structure known as the Tower Building.
We polish off our tepid joe and pass hearty diehard surfers as they eye the still-calm sea for errant rogue waves to ride. A truck laboriously combs the sands, leveling the shore and ridding the beach of both seaweed and stones. A few gulls feast at water’s edge, and one lucky gull manages to pry open a clam, revealing the soft, plump, salty meat within. Sandpipers engage in their morning dance, frantically skirting the wavelets as they, too, seek morning sustenance.
Julie and I briskly walk the length of the beach, marveling at the diffused light that beckons the arrival of the sun. A few early risers wave to us in passing, their military gait honed to such precision they fail to espy the unfolding majesty.
Before reaching the ethereal conclusion to the expanse of sand the sun appears, hesitantly releasing its perch upon the horizon, and allowing sky-gazing eyes the beauty of its empyrean rubescence.
This then is what makes it so worthwhile, negating sleep and arising before dawn to witness such solar splendor.
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2012, All Rights Reserved.