I tossed and turned in the 3 o'clock hour. Finally at about 3:47 I decided that if I wanted to catch the sunrise, I'd have to get up and go now. The spot I had in mind was about an hour away and the sun was due to come up on the East coast at about 5:05am. With it being only two weeks away from the summer solstice, that's as early as it gets. Something was bothering me and I needed to go for a drive anyways. It's oddly soothing hitting the road knowing that no one's even awake yet, flying under the cover of darkness. I'm allowed to have my thoughts where no one can interrupt them, not even traffic. I discovered a song called Analog Fade by Hot Mulligan that became the soundtrack to my excursion. It sounded right in the moment. I pulled the camera from the depths of my bag (carefully) while I was driving, and took a shot as I approached my destination. The last sliver of moon suspended itself in the fading twilight, greeting the slow arrival of coming dawn.
I arrived just in time to see the sun come up over the Atlantic. There were a few fisherman prepping their vessel on the pier, though most had already left the harbor. Faint green and red beacons flickered in the distance as they sailed into the oncoming sun.
A couple of bike riders accompanied me in these wee hours, looking for coffee. Nothing was open yet. I positioned myself for one more shot from the edge of the neck. The deep orange glow refracted the air and illuminated everything around, including me. For some reason I thought that washing myself in the first light of day would trigger a shift of time and space, something mystical that might alter the trajectory of things. I needed an extra stroke of luck from some otherworldly power.
The town began to awaken in the 6 o'clock hour. I was no longer alone and it was time to face the day. I packed up my camera and drove away, in search of an iced coffee to help bring me home.