Across the road, down the sand-filled steps, and onto the beach.  Faint, predawn light lifted above the ocean horizon. Shucking my sandals, I pushed my bare feet into the night cooled sand and walked down the beach until I found a promising spot halfway between the dunes and the shoreline. Setting up my camp chair, I sat down, pulled out my notebook, ready to begin an hour-long, sunrise sit spot.

I tried to write down my initial impressions, but it was still too dark to see the page. As I scribbled away relying on motor memory to form the letters, a moment of doubt arose.  I had done previous ocean sunrise sit spots.  Would this hour bring new perceptions and insights, or just be more of the same old?

Light Unfolding

A gull flew overhead; soft, silent wing beats in the still morning air.  Out at sea, I spotted a solitary fishing boat with long booms spread like gull wings.  Deck lights on; specks of illumination in the fading night.   A swarm of gulls circled the boat.

I felt a sense of connection to the boat.  We were both solitary seekers.   The fishermen seining the unseen depths for finny nuggets of nutrition while I scanned the flow of sensory impressions for meaning and beauty.

More light in the sky now. Now, I can see my handwriting.  Beyond the fishing boat a bank of gray clouds reflects a subtle orange tint, a hint of the coming sunrise.

The light slowly increased.  Two willets appeared along the shoreline: slender, long-legged, long-beaked shorebirds patrolling the wet sand, probing busily for morsels of food.  They looked like graceful dancers following an ancient, instinctual choreography.

A pelican flew by; long beak, large wings, flap-flap, gliding inches above the water. Four sanderlings flew in, small, gray, short-legged, short-beaked birds and instantly began speed walking up and down at wave’s edge, probing the sand with sewing machine rapidity.  Higher up on the beach a black-bellied plover searched for food.

The beach had come alive.  Golden light spread over water and sand.  I was surrounded by beauty.

Pop-Up Gathering

A gull landed at water’s edge, cocked its head, waddled toward me, paused six feet away, and looked expectantly. It was a ring-billed gull, often seen circling landfills and patrolling parking lots for French fries.  This gull had learned that beachgoers can be a source of food.

I sat still. After a few minutes, the gull gave up and waddled away.  Did I sense an air of disappointment in its posture?

More light on the horizon now: soft yellow surrounding the gray clouds, a band of light blue topped by a long rosy-pink cloud.

Gazing at the swirling, foaming surf I listened to the sounds, the whooshing, crashing, wumping of the surf and a final shishsing as the water reached up on to the sand where it was absorbed.

Along the shoreline to my left three gulls landed, black cap and beak, laughing gulls.  I glanced at the horizon and when I looked back there were twelve gulls.  More gulls flew in.  A trio of gulls at least two hundred yards offshore spotted the growing assembly, abruptly changed course, and flew in to join the gathering.

Soon there were more than thirty gulls. Other birds joined the congregation, Forester terns, black skimmers, and even a pair of larger ring-billed gulls.  It was as if some bird had sent out an urgent group text to gather at this spot at this time.

Studying the growing assembly, I thought I perceived a purpose.  Once they landed the birds seemed to shift into a rest and relax mode perhaps due to the security provided by the many sets of eyes.  I saw some of the birds splash around in the water taking a quick bath while others dedicated themselves to grooming their feathers, and others tucked a leg, faced into the wind,ready for a power nap.

The shorebirds were teaching me about their social side.  I saw them often in solitary or small group mode, patrolling the shoreline, searching for food.  But how quickly they could shift into social mode, a state that must be equally beneficial, a state so useful and so well understood by all birds that different species readily joined in and shared space.

I found the scene comforting, even reassuring, a reminder that humans too probably need this balance between solitary and social time.

My reverie was shattered when a jogger, plodding down the beach, plowed into the assembly of birds, scattering them into the air. 

Time

As my eyes followed the birds flew out to sea, I noticed light and color action on the horizon.  Two thin bands of pink clouds morphed into a panorama of rose and pink pushing above the horizon.

Suddenly, there it was, a yellow-orange half dome pushing into the sky transforming the color palette into luminous yellow and orange fanning upward.  The fishing boat was no longer in darkness and solitude but now bathed in light.

The sun quickly grew from a half dome to full round glowing ball.  Yellow beams traced across the water.  The first hints of warmth touched my face and chest. I too was lifted from dim solitude and joined to light and warmth.

Another day had arrived. I could almost feel the pre-dawn hurry and anticipation of the shorebirds resolve. The sun had risen once again and all the life around me seemed to settle into the routine of another day. 

Gulls flapped by. Pelicans glided above the waves. Terns floated on delicate wings, hovering, and plunging into the water.  A pair of black skimmers, long black scimitar shaped wings, large spikey, orange-black beak, skimmed just above the water.

Patterns

Gazing seaward I watched the far rollers steadily forming, rising, cresting, and then breaking, crashing, and foaming.  I saw the waves reform and break, crash, and foam again closer to shore. And then, utter chaos as the dying waves crisscrossed, swirled, canceled, augmented, flowed to the left or right along the beach until they finally spent their last energy spreading across the and disappearing into the sand.

This chaotic movement of water that I witnessed up close, was from another perspective orderly and fit a precise and predictable pattern of ebb and flow reflected in the calculated tide tables. You needed the right viewpoint to perceive the order.

Perhaps, it was the same for the shorebirds.  In the bird guides there were neat maps with bands of color showing the seasonal movement of the gulls, terns, skimmers, and sandpipers.  But, for me sitting on this beach the movement of the birds seemed random—flying solitary, traveling in groups, swooping back and forth along the beach, sitting on the beach, floating on the water, doing nothing, feeding busily, then pausing to groom. 

Maybe our lives were the same—up close it was all random sensory input and a continual flow of consciousness, on which we strive to impose order, often lacking perspective to see the deeper patterns.

Nearby

I had been sitting in stillness observing nature for more than forty minutes, an interval that often serves as a temporal threshold that invites mindfulness and creates a shift away from seeing what you are looking for to perceiving what is there.

At my feet, I saw a subtle line of debris left by the last high tide—tiny twigs, grass stems, seaweed, shells, fragments; all bright, shiny, and luminous in the angled sunbeams.  Objectively, I knew these were just beach debris, but subjectively and in the moment, they appeared incredibly beautiful to me, a view that moved me.

I wondered what was so compelling about this simple scene. Was it the random complexity of everyday objects, a naturally arranged still life?   Was it a visual pattern that shifted and changed with each glance, like a work of modern art inviting ever-changing interpretations. Or was the appeal more tangible, the debris representing a recording of time and tide, providing testimony to the perpetual movement and rest of all material things.

The tide was slowly coming in, the water edging closer.  As each wave receded an array of myriad bubbles appeared in the wet sand.  Entranced, I watched the hundreds, no thousands, the uncountable bubbles, open, and then disappear into the smooth wet sand.

I glanced behind me at the exposed bank of the sand dune.  In the brightening sunlight I could see the web of exposed roots from the dune grasses, surprisingly deep, vast, and complex, well designed by nature to hold the shoreline.

In front of me a willet flew in, strode on long legs into the water, dipped, and splashed, and shook its feathers, enjoying a morning bath.  So much beauty in simple things around me.

Carried by the Breeze

My hour was winding down.  The sun lifted higher in the sky; a breeze arose from the southwest and touched my face.  I inhaled the fresh invigorating sea air.

Sniffing the air, I detected another smell.  What was it?  Ah, from the restaurant three blocks upwind, the aromas of breakfast.  I sniffed again trying to parse out the different smells, but all I could detect was a true breakfast blend, the smells of coffee, eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast.  

I closed my notebook, folded up my chair, and began my walk back to the cottage where I planned to cook a hearty breakfast.

Stepping back across the sand I reflected that this ocean sunrise had been different.  Perhaps it was due to the different location or maybe I was in a different space.  Or maybe every ocean sunrise has its own beauty and its own stories to tell.

                                                                  —–

This sit spot was conducted at Flager Beach, Florida on February 18, 2026. 

If you would like to read more about nature sit spots, please check out The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning.  If you want more information on how nature improves well-being, look at my most recent book, Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness.  Both books are available on Amazon and through the publisher, Shanti Arts Publications.