At sunrise, a profound tranquility descends, defying comprehension a rebirth, a sense of boundless potential. I wish I could claim I rise early daily to savor the sunrise's splendor, but that would be a lie. What's true is I was there that morning, as was she.
Sunrisers share an unspoken bond, an appreciation for serene beauty. Perhaps that's why I felt an instant connection with her. Yet, it wasn't solely the early hour that drew me to Mary. Regardless of time, she would have captivated me.
The first time I saw her, I sat at my cherished spot overlooking Lake Quinault, a hidden gem owned by the Quinault Indian Nation in Washington State. Until then, I'd preferred its beauty remain my secret.
Lake Quinault, nestled deep within the Olympic National Forest, beckons fishermen, swimmers, and nature enthusiasts alike, offering a breathtaking spectacle of unspoiled nature. Its secluded location makes it a challenge to find, and once discovered, many outdoor enthusiasts keep its beauty closely guarded. In an age where leisure time often succumbs to screen time, Lake Quinault serves as a poignant reminder of the essence of vacations, with its sunrise over the lake deemed a divine marvel.
The journey recounted took place in early summer, a memory etched vividly due to the necessity of being in position just past 5:00 a.m. to witness the sun ascend over the mountains. Summer proves ideal for such sunrise vistas, as few venture out early enough, let alone trek to my concealed perch except for me, and Mary.
"Is this seat taken?"
Few recall the exact first words exchanged with the love of their life; however, I distinctly remember. As I turned to the unexpected voice that morning, the dawn's first light unveiled the most exquisite girl I had ever beheld. Perhaps not every man would agree. Mary wore no makeup, donned ripped jeans, and sported a faded brown hoodie. Her auburn hair, disheveled yet perfect, hinted at a morning routine untouched by vanity. Despite her casual appearance, an inner radiance shone through, impervious to the worn jeans and hoodie. That initial moment altered something within me, I changed. For years, I had safeguarded my secret sanctuary, yet now, unexpectedly, joyfully, I yearned to share my sunrise with her.
Regrettably, I'm no poet, so when she asked, the best I could muster was, "It's a free country." With that simple response, she not only entered my cherished spot by the lake but also nestled herself into my heart.
The ensuing silence spoke volumes. Mary wasn't one for idle chatter; she had come to appreciate the sunrise's beauty in quietude. Together, we sat in stillness, watching as the sun crested the horizon, bathing us in its gentle warmth. Without words, we conversed. Her silent presence conveyed an understanding of the moment's significance, and I silently acknowledged that her presence made it all the more precious.
Perfection remains an elusive ideal in this world, yet that morning came remarkably close. As the sun fully emerged, countless thoughts raced through my mind. Then, as quietly and swiftly as she had arrived, Mary rose, brushed dirt from her ripped jeans, and made her way down the trail, disappearing from my view.
Eight words spoken, countless scenarios envisioned. Thirty minutes elapsed, a lifetime imagined. The prospect of never seeing her again weighed heavily on me, casting a profound sadness.
Five years passed swiftly, yet each day since that lake encounter felt interminable. Amid first dates, tender kisses, and declarations of love, fate or circumstance intervened, thwarting every promising relationship. I resolved to find solace in solitude.
Every failed romance carried an excuse, but at its heart lay a sunrise shared and a conversation never had.
Occasionally, I returned to our spot, ostensibly for the sunrise, not for her or so I convinced myself. Unbeknownst to me, amidst resignation, I held onto hope. Hope to see her once more. Hope to rekindle that feeling. Hope that she would appear. And then, against all odds, it happened. Summer had returned, the sunrise painted the sky, and this time, she stood there beside me.
Perfection in this mortal realm remains an elusive pursuit, but that morning came remarkably close. As the sun fully revealed itself, a flood of thoughts raced through my mind. Then, swiftly and quietly, Mary rose from her seat, brushed dirt off her ripped jeans, and disappeared down the trail, vanishing from my sight.
Eight words spoken, yet they sparked countless scenarios in my mind. Thirty minutes passed like a lifetime, filled with imagined possibilities. The certainty that I might never see her again weighed heavily on me, leaving an overwhelming sadness in its wake.
Five long years slipped by since that day at the lake. Amidst first dates, tender kisses, and heartfelt declarations of love, fate or intention seemed to conspire against every promise. I resolved to find solace in solitude.
With each failed relationship, there was always a justification, but at its core lingered the memory of a shared sunrise and a conversation that never took place.
I returned to our spot intermittently, ostensibly to witness the sunrise, not for her or so I told myself. Unbeknownst to me, amidst resignation, a glimmer of hope persisted. Hope to see her again. Hope to rediscover the emotions of that day. Hope that she would appear. And then, against all odds, it happened. Summer returned, the sunrise painted the sky, and there she stood beside me.
"Is this seat taken?"
"It's a free country."
Those same eight words.
Little did I know then that she, too, had often returned to our secret spot.
Seeing her again, I resolved not to let this opportunity slip away again. When the sun had played its part in our reunion, Mary stood and wiped the dirt from her jeans, just as she had five years earlier. This time, however, I rose to my feet as well.
"My name is Anthony. I don't care for coffee, but I'd love to share a cup with you."
"I'm Mary," she replied matter of factly, "and I'd be happy to share a cup of Joe."
She called it 'Joe'? It's funny how such small things can confirm that love is real. I couldn't say it that day, fearing I might lose her, but in that moment, I knew. I'd said 'I love you' before, but I realized I'd never truly meant it until then.
Lifetimes unfold backwards. A cup of coffee led to dinner dates, commitment, a proposal, and forever. There were kids, dogs, and vacations, but always trips to Lake Quinault. Always at sunrise. Always just us. Never needing words.
You never realize it's the last time until it's too late. Our final trip to Lake Quinault was like all the others. Age slowed us, but we found our spot, sat together, and enjoyed the silence. The sun rose flawlessly, but Mary needed my help to rise.
"Care for a cup of Joe?"
She knew I did. She understood that sitting beside her, pretending to enjoy coffee, was my greatest joy. Deep down, I knew she wouldn't return for another sunrise, though I refused to admit it to myself.
That day in the café, we exchanged stories of family and friends, of lives lived and loved ones lost, while we savored what had become my favorite drink. We took stock of our lives and realized we had triumphed.
Two days later, I lost her. Just like that first day at the lake, I watched her walk away, leaving me bereft, this time without the prospect of her return. The sadness from years past washed over me like a tidal wave.
"I'll save a seat for you," were her parting words to me. True to form, I replied, "It's a free country." Then, she was gone.
One day, hopefully soon, I'll watch the sunrise again with my Mary, from a much better hidden place. Until then, I visit our special spot only at night.
I'm never alone when I go there. I make my way to our clearing and settle down just as I did all those years ago. In the moonlight reflecting off the lake, I feel her comforting presence reaching out to me. In the silence that only we understand, I hear her clearly.