Sie sind auf Seite 1von 2

Will Patterson Ms. Baker British Literature D

2/10/16

Solitude in the Morning

Sea lather is a cushion to the pads of my feet, shielding me from the grating sand along the coast. The sun unfurls its glimmering carpet of deep red, an adagio of brightening hues tickling the seashells and warming the brisk saline air. Summer morning has arrived and the ocean is singing.

It is without people, yet not lonely. We have found solitude, the morning and I.

Gulls squawk and cackle; the swells, already più mosso, ripple, splash, surge, and roll around my ankles. The popping of the waves crescendos for a moment, subito forte. Then the same wave that made an adventurous foray up to my mid calf, is abruptly gone. Retreated back into the bed of the sea.

It is without warmth, yet not bitterly cold. We have found solitude, the waves and I.

It is only in these fleeting morning hours, the no man’s land between sleep and fully awake that I can exhale what was yesterday. Take a moment, bocca chiusa. Before inhaling and preparing to face the day anew.

We have found solitude, myself and I. We have found solitude in the morning.

Will Patterson Ms. Baker British Literature D

2/10/16

Solitude in the Morning