I thank you, Father, for the beach in the morning. I thank you for the steady rush of the sea, for the hiss of her foam as it slowly recedes back into itself, for the fire set alight in the white crest of the waves as the sun breaks the horizon, for the call of gulls and the whistling breeze that tastes of salt, for the serene loneliness of an empty beach at dawn.
Why don't I wake up like this every morning?
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