THE MORNING I MET THE SUN AT EMERALD BAY

There’s something humbling about waking before the world stirs. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine, and the stillness of Emerald Bay feels sacred. Standing at the water’s edge, I watched as the horizon began to glow—a faint whisper of light brushing the mountains.

Slowly, the sun emerged. Golden rays spilled across the lake, chasing away shadows and turning the bay into a mirror of fire and glass. The little island in the center stood like a guardian of the morning, its reflection doubling the wonder of the scene. It felt less like I was watching a sunrise and more like I was being welcomed into it.

In that moment, the weight of time disappeared. The world was quiet, yet alive. The promise of the day stretched before me, fresh and unwritten. A sunrise doesn’t just brighten the sky; it stirs something within, reminding us of the beauty in beginnings.

Whenever I look back at this photograph, I don’t just see the sunrise. I feel the hush of that morning, the chill in the air, and the warmth of the sun’s first hello.