The air was warm, and laden with moisture, delivered in a soft breeze across the waterway. 

The sky, at first, was the grayish blue of the moments just after dawn, dotted and streaked with pink and gray clouds.  On the edge, the horizon, the clouds were outlined in shimmering gold, as if an artist had dipped her brush in the sun. 

The only sounds were the gulls calling to each other, announcing their finds of food to breakfast on, the sound of the lone fisherman on the dock casting his line, likely for mullet in these parts. 

The smell was of salt water, and the life that births within it. A great blue heron flew past, and stopped on the shore, in the same place as yesterday.  A lone egret carried on its own search for food a few feet away. 

There is no traffic yet, not a single car has been seen on the roads. A few people walking, a bicyclist rode by just as dawn broke. But the sounds of the world coming awake are beginning to be heard. 

Such is the tropical morning in this small corner of the world.  And I, I am just trying to shrink small so that my presence does not affect the balance, as I record the morning in the recesses of my mind. 

Love and light, everyone.