Early mornings on the balcony of the rented condo.  I have, quietly so others can sleep, made a pot of coffee, and poured a cup.

The cool morning air ruffles the hem of my nightgown and I sip coffee as the sun rises.  Its warmth matching the colors of the sky – red and orange and gold – glimmers of light bouncing off the water.

My skin is tight and pink from yesterday’s sun and my hair is wild from restful sleep to the rhythm of the tide. I smell like coconuts and vanilla.

I get up for a second cup of coffee and my phone.  I want a photo of this sunrise, just like yesterday and just like tomorrow.  Each seems a mystery just for me.  From darkness comes light and then color and then awe.  I try to capture it never quite succeeding.  I should get the good camera, but I’m too lazy to fool with lenses and aperture and fstops.  The morning is too easy, too wrapped in zen for doing.

Every day, on the balcony, bearing witness to the glimmers of peace.  Of hope.  Of tranquility. Steeped in a cup of good coffee, its warmth echoing the sun. Every year the journey to the beach with good friends.  Laughter and good food and strong sun.  The occasional storm in which the mysteries of the universe ramp up the glimmer and it explodes, wiping the sand clean of footprints.

Witnessed from the balcony – my place in the early morning, my place in the evening.  I begin and end my days with glimmer – sunlight on the water, moonlight on the water, the phosphorescence of breaking waves.

Glimmer.