When you wake up on Bainbridge Island, you might hear the soft pattering of rain or birds chirping as they skirt between trees. The rain might be so soft that you take a cup of hot tea outside on your porch and sit for a while in the natural meditation this weather orchestrates.
You might stay here until the sun stretches an arm through the clouds, parts their condensation, and guides it elsewhere. The presence of the rain still lingers though, as the water surrounding the island quietly ripples and cradles the sailboats around the docks.
You might walk slowly down towards the water now, the evergreens protecting your path. Perhaps you make a turn into these woods along the way to gaze up at the anchored trunks swaying just so slightly in the wind. As the trees dry their branches above you, each step you take rustles the leaves beneath your feet.
As you emerge from your detoured route, you might wave to neighbors who are also moving into the daylight. You loop towards the bay just as the sun beams its liquid gold onto the surface. Your eyes might close as your every cell seems to open up to absorb the light and salt water. You might now hear a heron flapping its wings across the water or kayakers pushing themselves offshore. The ferry’s horn rumbles in the distance.
You might pass blackberry bushes and bicyclists on your way back home. As you climb the steps up, your mind might become freer as it admires the mountains in your periphery and the sun’s return after the dark of night. Your heart might grow with gratitude as all the life on the island joins you in shaking off the dew of the morning.