Morning Yoga

Nova Scotia is on Atlantic Standard Time…

What on earth is AST?

Deep sleep torn by a jaunty tune on my old iPhone at 6:15 that felt like 5:15.

Sandpaper covered red eyes squinting to see the time.

I grabbed the wrong glasses and was lost for a moment. The tip off was the plastic arms with tighter screws than my own. Then the wider frame. I thought the blur was my own.

Funny what stands out when one isn’t fully present.

A splash, to wake the face and tame the wavy, pillow sculpted, overgrown pixie.

Teeth scrubbed.

Glands swollen from two weeks with too much stress and not enough rest.

Water.

Sip the water.

Pull on the clothes.

Sip again, then head downstairs, along the carpet and the chilly wood, skin hyper aware of the fabric shifting across it with each step.

Sweet morning smiles exchanged between mothers, conspiring to escape while the rest of the house, somehow, still slumbered.

A towel, a car, a few quietly spoken words.

A drive down a road lightly traveled, along the shore.

Heavy clouds with teasing sunlight.

Waves lapping, rolling, irregular, but steady. Like breath.

A towel to pad the sleep tinged limbs, layered in fabric, save for the bare feet with toes so eager to inch over the edges, time after time, to taste the tempting earth.

A crackling fire, sand cradled and rock encircled, the background for happy voices on this penultimate Saturday of beach yoga in summer.

Breathing, moving, awareness of sky and land and sea.

Of self.

Of other morning bodies. A hint of excitement, as if we were privy to some forbidden ritual. Almost like innocent mischief, shackles of daily life released and childlike joy grasped, pulling it within to hold throughout the day. Working towards some energetic order while others slept. Perhaps we were all hobgoblins or brownies in a past life…

Memories of another friend, another beach, another cherished time.

Gratitude.

For friends. For the sea. For blissful, sacred, grounding moments in which nature encourages us to simply be.

Gentle preparation for the day to come.

And a lovely, joyful day it was…

Leave A Comment

Your email address will not be published.