Next to my head the annoying yet useful alarm from my iPod Touch broke through my deep slumber and roused me to wakefulness. It was still dark yet you could feel the energy of a new day in the air. The black of night was fading fast to be replaced by more cheerful blues. I pushed the mosquito netting away from my face and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Sleep still clung thick to my eyes but I was not to be deterred. On a tropical island in the middle of nowhere I was not going to miss out on this. Weather is a fickle thing and as I glanced through the low mesh covered window I saw what would be considered by photographers as a perfect sky (at least for me). ‘Always a sucker for a good picture,’ I chuckled quietly to myself so as not to disturb the peaceful breathing of those around me.
Outside it was quiet. The stillness of the early morning was complete and only broken by the constant soothing sound of the water rushing up and down the sand. I was by myself. No one else had yet ventured from their abode. The ten or so local huts all sat dark.
My backpack slung over one shoulder and tripod in hand I walked along the beach, out and away from the clutter of the pier, out and away from the signs of civilization. As I passed one bamboo house after another the dogs guarding the front awoke and began to bark menacingly at me. My solitude was broken but I did not let it disturb me. Years ago I had dealt with a barking dog next to my window in Japan. It was either pay attention and get angry or ignore it and get on with things. I chose the latter but wished for the absence of the annoyance.
With a sigh I set up the tripod and mounted my camera atop it. The horizon was still grim but slowly coming to life. The change was barely perceivable but I knew that soon it would become just like the waves rushing to shore and the chances I would have to capture it would be fleeting and rare. A good picture only requires luck, a great picture requires timing, patience, and of course luck.
Behind me I began to notice the first signs of life from the village. People peeking out of doors, others wandering from house to house, lights peeking out from cracks in the wall, everyone was waking up. I turned back to the horizon where I knew the curtain was about to be raised. My watch said 5:40am.
And with little fanfare it all began. A thin sliver of blue along the rim of the Gulf of Thailand became orange, then red as a half circle of burning star made its entrance upon the stage of day. It was breathtaking, to witness this birth, this celestial event that because we see it every day seems so common when it is not.
Behind me I heard someone approaching. I turned to see a new friend of mine, John, coming up. He too was looking to watch the show. A few years older than me he had seen much of the world, dove in unaccountable bodies of water, hiked trails through famous mountains, he was another Tramp Royal, looking to live before the breath of life was taken from him. ‘Morning,’ he said with a casual smile.
I nodded back, ‘morning.’ He turned to the slowly rising orb. ‘I can see why people used to worship the sun. How people could never be sure it would rise the next day… It’s just amazing.’ I turned back to the star which had hidden itself behind a cloud. ‘I know what you mean…’
We stood there for what seemed like ages, the silence broken only by the click of a camera and the bark of dogs, watching.
It was just a sunrise but different then any other I had ever witnessed or I feel will ever witness again. It was new to me, seen in a different light, from a fresh point of view. To describe the rush of emotions would be impossible.
‘Smoke?’ John asked. ‘Sure, why not,’ I laughed. I’m not much of a smoker but there is a time and a place for everything.
Time passed. The sky began to burn with the fuel of a new day. The sun crept slowly upwards running from its past and seeking its future just as man does. Darkness was banished inch by inch and every corner illuminated turning the swirl of clouds into a Van Gogh-like painting. Red clouds, midnight blue clouds, yellow clouds, pink clouds, orange clouds, they all mixed indiscriminately above us.
The clicking of cameras and barking of dogs stopped. A cock crowed. It was morning.
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