We attend the sunrise service.

Enter this holy place by the stained glass light of sun, filtered through scattered clouds.

A congregation of gulls take day old bread communion while a choir of terns tear the pages from the hymnal, sing a song of praise passed down to them since the first tern gave thanks for the first sunrise.

We rub a rosary of rough edged shells and smooth stones between our fingers, place the broken bits in our pockets to be repaired or discarded later.

Are drawn to the alter of the sea; baptized in the surf, confess our sins to the crashing waves.

Watch footprints ahead and behind erased until there is only us, only this moment and for that we say “Amen.”

• 

• 

• 

•