There is a familiar architecture to these early hours on the Texas Gulf Coast, one that begins with a standing appointment with the horizon. I’ve taken my usual position in the oversized rocker on the back porch here in Alvin, a steaming mug of coffee in hand, settling in to watch the world fill in its morning wireframes.
For the last hour, I have been a silent observer of the sky’s slow transition. I watched as the deep, velvety dark of the pre-dawn gave way to an overall washed-out blue. It is a quiet odyssey of observation, but I’ll admit to a bit of disappointment; the vibrant, atmospheric reconstruction I was hoping to chronicle hasn’t materialized.
The Friction of the Forecast
It has been quite some time since my personal schedule and the cosmic clock have properly coincided. Life often introduces a certain “friction” that gets in the way of these morning musings—a reminder that we don’t always get to dictate the terms of the day’s opening act.
I had high hopes for today’s display. A line of clouds was blowing in from the south, sweeping up Galveston Bay with the kind of texture that usually yields a cinematic sunrise. My weather app—that indispensable member of my high-tech digital staff—indicates that official sunrise is only four minutes away. Yet, from my vantage point on this porch, the sky remains stubborn, refusing to offer the light and color I was looking for.
The Soundscape: From Folk Song to Parking Lot
While the visual synchronicity is lacking, the auditory world has been anything but silent.
- The Early Melody: Earlier, as I sat here watching the grandkids load onto the school bus, the air was a rich tapestry of birdsong—a natural folk song that felt like a gift for the early riser.
- The Morning Scribes: Now, the melody has shifted. Individual crows are calling from all points of the compass, acting as the self-appointed scribes of the oak trees.
- The Walmart Gulls: Flocks of what I call “Walmart Gulls” are flying over in small groups, leaving the coastal salt behind for the asphalt territories of parking lots near and far.
Just Words Strung Together
This morning might not be the “mountain dream” I often seek, but it is the reality of the coastal sun. Even when the color is missing, these moments are worth recording as placeholders in my Commonplace Book of Days. They remind me that the ritual is as important as the result. After all, a day started with a quiet porch and a thoughtful heart is never a waste—it’s just “words strung together… nicely” before the world begins its noisy expansion.
I’m out on the back porch in my oversized rocker. I’ve been sitting here watching the sky lightening. Going from my dark to an overall washed out blue. So far, the sunrise color I was hoping for hasn’t materialized.
It’s just a bit disappointing. It’s been awhile since I’ve tried to capture a sunrise. My schedule and the clock have not coincided.
I had high hopes today. There was a line of clouds blowing in from the south and moving up Galveston Bay. It really had the makings of a colorful sunrise.
But, according to my weather app, sunrise will happen in 4 minutes… And from what I’m seeing, the color just isn’t there.
Sitting out waiting for the grandkids to load onto the bus this morning, the sound of the pre-dawn was full of birdsong. Now, not so much. There are individual crows calling from all points of the compass. And flocks of Walmart Gulls are flying over in small groups headed for parking lots near and far.
