It’s June. Almost midsummer. The nights are short and the dawns are early. I rise from bed while the darkness still holds it’s own, slip into my clothes, grab my rucksack and get into the car. I drive slowly to a lane near to my destination and park up. Getting out of the car I notice the clear sky with a hint of colour bleeding through the blackness. I gather my kit and walk along a footpath through arable fields towards the coast, running my fingers through the crops as I walk. Approaching the bay, I can feel a gentle breeze on my face. At the shoreline I see that the sea is calm with hardly any swell. I set my tripod down, ease the heavy rucksack from my shoulders and sit on a cold, flat rock waiting for the light to gather enough for me to set up the shot.
I wait some more, thinking about the approaching day, grateful for it and hopeful of what it will bring. As the dawn approaches I compose the image in the viewfinder. The sea birds on the nearby cliffs are beginning to stir and I can hear their cries. I wait some more as the pre-dawn chill begins to seep into me.
The coming dawn light has chased away the darkness and, in the time before sunrise, plays out in a procession of subtle colours. I press the shutter and check the image on the screen. A few adjustments and I take a couple more frames. I’m unsure and want to change the composition but the sun is due so I settle for what is taken and choose to enjoy the moment. The first glimpse of the sun is here and, as it rises, the light on the scene is transformed. A couple more shots and then I wait, just watching the changes, feeling the warmth on my skin and taking pleasure from the peace, the solitude and the beauty of nature. All is well.