The tide had gone, leaving bare mud flats to the early morning.  In the distance Stage Island waited for seagulls and curious tourists from away, unchanged by another sunrise.  

The light burned through smoke and clouds, dim enough to make the world feel older than it was this July morning.  It touched the dark wet sand like a beacon of promise before fading into silence.

Some mornings ask nothing of you but to wait out the rain, stand still and listen for the gulls.