The skies in the southeast coast of Puerto Rico were burning red this morning as the sun showed a hint of itself across the horizon. While the surrounding was as yet dark and the grasses covered with fog, the familiar bluish tinge of the skies started appearing when the sun’s rays, in full reddish regalia, marched on towards its westerly course.
From where I was standing, right by a sandy beach, the sun began its slow ascent from the Caribbean sea, changing the surroundings from grey to orange to pink. The palm trees that lined the coast were silhouettes, assuming form and color only as the rays touched them.
The breeze, a gentle blow from the seas, was of the hue as the sun commanded it. It was today that I could say I breathed color. A stray dog, Tigger, accompanied me to witness earth’s transformation.
At the farthest end of the dock, a group of men cast their fishing lines to the seas. Their fishing poles, fastened at the wooden fence, stood at attention by the edge of this dock. In a little while, the poles will bend seaward to a familiar tug that the fishers are waiting for.
From afar, a solitary yacht sliced through the glassy sea. A few minutes earlier, a couple of yachts anchored near the island of Cayo Santiago. The white-haired captain of the smaller yacht, busy with tying the ropes by the fairlead, glanced momentarily then waved at our passing boat.
Disturbed by my ruminations, two pelicans flew and roosted on a nearby boat wreck. My eyes stopped following them and I started the first focal observation of the day.