Greybeard‘s Morning Meditation

It's dark in the sleeping room but as usual during this vacation on the Island of Madeira Greybeard awakes early. Silently he walks out of the room, the last evening he has already prepared his today's dress in the living room. Quickly he dresses in the dark, no light required, then he steps out in the corridor with the big terrace glass door: is it raining again? Looks like there is no rain today. By opening the checks the door he checks the temperature: the thick sweater will do to sit and meditate outside, enjoying the beautiful view to the ocean from 40 m above. He takes some cushions, places himself in meditation position, to his left he can already see the dawn, but the crescent is still bright.

 He has a last view to the rock in front of him and slowly closes his eyes.

 

After some deep breaths of the fresh salty air he concentrates on the sound of the ocean: the booming of each of the breaking waves is slowly rolling from his far right, coming closer, getting louder, crashing against the rock just in front and continuing slightly softer towards his left. 

With the receding water the pebbles rumbling in maelstrom,  generating a very chacteristic sound for this beach. And soon the next wave approaches the beach, repeating the whole again and again, the increasing and decreasing noise of the braking waves builds a constant background for his meditation, he starts to follow each of the waves from right to left, each one slightly different but all the same. He becomes part of the oceanic orchestra, his concentrated mind is here in every part of a second, here at the beach, here at the culmination point of each breaking wave, the spray, the fume,  every pebble, the rock, he is part of it, he is it.
With fading of his concentration he slowly opens his eyes, just to watch another spectacle: the sun just sends the first rays above the horizon the surface of the sea is still not lit, but the white crest waves of the breaking waves are now shimmering golden, illuminated by the mild morning light.

A short time later the rising sun illuminates the wave's spray wavering towards the land, creating another mystic glance in a enchanted country.

With an echo of the repetitive rolling of the waves in his humming head he slowly returns back to conciousness still speechlessly admiring the miraculous play of light, air and water around him.