FIRST LIGHT

I am at St. George Island, Florida. The sun is coming up. My step son Jody is asleep on a pull out sofa. The living room is darkly lit and quiet. I tip toe in and wake him. His little cheeks are puffy from being fast asleep. I give him a hug and tell him to look outside. The sun is sneaking its way out of the ocean. He sees it. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks over at me and smiles. The sun is a quarter of the way out, winking at us.
The ocean rushes toward us inside the safety of our glass bay windows and French doors. The walls are white, beachy pictures painted by local artists hang on the walls. Jody leans back against me and yawns. I rub his short stubby Forrest Gump haircut. ‘It is the hairstyle he wanted.’ He leans against me and I feel for the first time like his father. We watch as the sun moves three quarters of the way out of the water.
The floor is cold and I cover us under one of the many blankets on his bed. He is quiet and warm. Goose-flesh spring up on his arms as he adjusts to the covers. We are connected. Not by blood or flesh, but by the sheer beauty of watching the sun float above the sea at St. George Island, Florida. We wait and watch as it ascends to start our new day.
Tomorrow we will watch daybreak again, nothing can duplicate this first time and we understand this, but what fun to look back and remember what that sunrise meant to a couple of Cancerians sitting under a blanket bonded together forever by a love of sand, waves and daylight.