In the crisp solitude of Cocoa Beach at dawn, witness a world untouched: golden light dances on waves, the chill air whispers, and a singular peace reigns over the empty shore.
Upon Cocoa’s shore at dawn’s first light, Where waves dance and shimmer with cold delight, A lone watcher, I stand in solitude’s embrace, Feeling the north wind’s brisk and biting trace.
The sand, a canvas of untouched grains, Bears witness to the sun’s golden reins, As it climbs, a fiery charioteer, Breaking the grip of night’s lingering fear.
Windy February Sunrise
The sea froths in a wild, wind-driven churn, As the day ignites and the horizons burn. Forty degrees, a chill to the bone, Yet in this brisk morn, I find myself alone.
No footprints mar the beach’s pristine face, Save mine, etched briefly in time’s fleeting grace. The gulls have fled the gusts’ relentless push, Leaving the skies to the clouds’ rosy blush.
In this brisk February gale, I watch the sun’s rays like warriors pale, Brandishing light against the cold, dark sea, A spectacle of warmth, just for me.
The beach, expansive, a desolate stage, A world apart from the human age. The waves, the wind, the chill, the light, Compose a symphony of nature’s might.
I breathe in deep the saline air, Each gust a verse in the morning’s prayer. The sea’s rhythm against the shore, A melody I’ve come to adore.
Here in this chill, this wind, this hue, I find a peace profound and true. Cocoa Beach at sunrise, a sight to behold, A memory in my heart, forever enfolded.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Beneath the brooding storm clouds moving with silent intent, I stood, the air electric with the storm’s approach. Yet, turning east, the Sun’s Eye winked at the horizon, igniting the sky in defiance—a fleeting warmth against the impending tempest’s chill.
Amidst the sprawling canvas of Cocoa Beach, a beachcomber such as I stands witness to the theater of the skies, a stage upon which the sun and storm perform their eternal dance. The dawn of this particular February morning brought with it a spectacle of dual realms, a chiaroscuro of the celestial drama that unfolds in minutes and lingers in the heart.
To the east, ‘the Sun’s Eye’—a fierce, glowing orb—peered over the horizon, its gaze cutting through the cool morning mist. The sea, a mirror of the skies, blushed with the hues of a blooming peach, its waves whispering secrets as they lapped the shore. Each frothy crest reflected the sun’s burgeoning fire, a symphony of light that sang of the world’s awakening. It was a moment of birth and beginning, the kindling of a day where the potential hung ripe as the citrus in the Floridian groves.
This radiance, however, was but a half of the morning’s tale. As I turned, facing west, the sky told a different story. Here, the heavens grew heavy with brooding storm clouds, a tumultuous sea of gray above the green. These undulating specters crept forward, a procession of ashen waves threatening to swallow the day’s young light. The air, charged with the tension of an impending tempest, hummed with the promise of nature’s fury.
Twenty-one minutes—a mere breath in the lifespan of the cosmos—was all it took for the scenery to shift, the mood to transform. To the east, the promise of warmth and the whisper of daylight’s caress; to the west, the cold omen of a storm’s embrace. This juxtaposition, this confrontation of fire and shadow, was a testament to the Earth’s ephemeral beauty.
In the presence of such a display, I—a mere beachcomber—was a sentinel between two worlds. The sunrise spoke to me of hope, of the unyielding rhythm of time that brings renewal each day. Its golden fingers painted the world in a palette of possibility, a reminder that each dawn brings its own story, its own song to be sung.
The approaching storm, in contrast, murmured of respect for the forces beyond our grasp, the humbling power that nature wields with indifferent grace. Its darkening clouds, layered like the furrowed brows of ancient gods, were a canvas of the world’s raw strength, its capacity for change, for washing the old away with a torrent.
Here, on this stretch of sand, the universe seemed to converge—a meeting point of opposing forces, a confluence of light and darkness, creation and destruction. In the face of such majesty, I found a profound tranquility, a sense of my place in the grand tapestry. For what are we but observers, participants in the grand design, bearing witness to the moments when the world reveals its contrasting character?
This morning’s display was a parable of life itself, written in the language of the skies. The Sun’s Eye, ever-watchful, ever-prescient, promised the comfort of the familiar, the steady passage of time marked by the constancy of its rise and fall. The storm, brooding and unpredictable, was a reminder of life’s uncertainty, the inevitability of change and the beauty found within it.
As the light grew and the darkness encroached, I stood at the crossroads of day and night, life and experience. With the sand beneath my feet and the salt air filling my lungs, I embraced the duality of existence, knowing well that each sunrise heralds not just the day, but the inescapable storm that follows. In Cocoa Beach, on the Space Coast, the universe had unfolded its dual nature before me, an eternal beachcomber, in the span of a single, breathtaking morning.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Discover the charm of Cocoa Beach’s enchanted sunset where Olaf, the endearing snowman from “Frozen,” joins athletes in a celebration of imagination and sport on Florida’s magical Space Coast.
Olaf, with his carrot nose and coal-button smile, is the epitome of the whimsy and innocence that fills the hearts of those who dare to dream. He’s the spark of childlike wonder that persists even as the day gives way to night. As the sun dips below the horizon at Cocoa Beach, the playful contrast of a snowman who loves warm hugs stands out against the backdrop of Florida’s Space Coast—a place known for its rocket launches as much as its sun-soaked shores. It’s here, on this stretch of sand, that imagination and reality dance in the twilight, blurring the lines between a tale from the silver screen and the tangible joy of a beach evening.
The presence of Olaf in this coastal setting is an unexpected delight, akin to the wonder of snowflakes in summer. He is more than a snowman; he is the manifestation of Elsa’s magic, a symbol of enduring friendship and the embodiment of the happiness that comes from simply being alive. His creation, a whimsical result of Elsa’s ice powers, speaks to the capacity we all have for creation and transformation. The Olaf suit, worn by a young athlete, represents not just a beloved character, but a beacon of joy and the power of sportsmanship that enlivens the USSSA National All State Championship.
Don DeDonatis, CEO of USSSA, speaks of the excitement of hosting a tournament that is a “celebration of talented softball players from around the country.” Indeed, it’s a parallel to the celebration of life that Olaf represents—where each athlete, like each snow crystal, is unique and contributes to the beauty of the whole. The tournament at the Space Coast Complex in Viera, Florida, is a tribute to the hard work and dreams of young athletes, much like the dream that brought Olaf to life.
The sunset photograph of Cocoa Beach, snapped in December 2023, is not just a capture of a moment in time, but a timeless reminder of the enchantments that life offers. The beach becomes a stage where each footprint tells a story, and each wave sings a song. It’s a place where memories are made, where the spirit of characters like Olaf can leap out of their fictional realms and into our world, if only for an evening.
Brevard County’s Space Coast is a junction where the vastness of space meets the intimacy of earth, where shuttles launch into the cosmos while children build sandcastles, and where a snowman can stand on a beach without melting, embraced by the warmth of the setting sun rather than the chill of winter. It’s a testament to the human spirit’s boundless creativity and our ability to find joy in the juxtaposition of opposites.
This enchanted evening is a tapestry woven from the threads of fantasy and reality, sport and art, the cosmos and the coastline. It’s where the horizon kisses the sea, where the sky becomes a canvas for the sun’s parting masterpiece, and where Olaf, our friend from “Frozen,” reminds us that magic is not just in the realm of fairytales but all around us, in every grain of sand, in every sunset, and in every heart that believes in the wonder of one enchanted evening.
Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
Joint me to gaze out upon a mesmerizing view of winter’s embrace over the Finger Lakes, where the setting sun paints an ephemeral masterpiece of ice, water, and twiligh
As I soared into the heavens, bound for Syracuse on the 9th of February in the year 2024, I found myself cradled in the gentle embrace of the port side of our metal chariot. The world unfolded beneath me; a tapestry of natural splendor painted in the golden hues of the setting sun. The view to the west, a grand panorama, beckoned my gaze, luring my senses into the wild embrace of Upstate New York’s finest landscapes.
Flying into Syracuse, February 9, 2024 we sat on the left (port) side of plane, this view to the west took in Canandaigua Lake, Bristol Mountain Ski Area, Honeoye Lake, Hemlock Lake (Canadice Lake is not visible).
Below, Canandaigua Lake lay stretched out like a slumbering giant, its waters glistening with the last kisses of daylight, a mirror to the sky’s fiery canvas. How wondrous it was to perceive the world from such heights, to witness the lake’s serenity from the abode of the gods. It seemed as if Canandaigua herself was remembering whispered tales of ice fishermen and quiet boathouses locked in the winter’s frosty grasp.
Off to the south, the proud shoulders of Bristol Mountain Ski Area rose in defiance against the winter’s chill. The mountain’s snow-laden slopes, carved with the meticulous precision of skiers and snowboarders, reflected the sun’s dying light, a beacon of winter’s joy amidst the sprawling lands. I could almost hear the muffled laughter of families and the swish of skis carving their ephemeral signature upon the mountain’s white canvas.
Nestled in the mountain’s shadow, Honeoye Lake revealed itself, a slender and unassuming sliver of tranquility. Its presence was like that of a quiet companion amidst the grandeur, a reminder of the simpler pleasures—frozen waters awaiting the spring thaw, the promise of lush greenery peering from beneath the white shroud of winter.
Beyond, where the earth kissed the sky, Hemlock Lake offered its secluded beauty, a hidden gem amongst its more renowned siblings. Though Canadice Lake remained shyly concealed from view, I knew it too slumbered there, a silent sentinel guarding the land’s secrets. Together, these lakes stood as custodians of a silent world, the guardians of a tranquility that seemed untouched by the passage of time.
As the plane banked gently, the clouds above me caught fire, ablaze with the colors of the dying day. Wisps of vapor painted streaks of orange, purple, and pink across the expansive canvas, a celestial masterpiece unfolding before my very eyes. The clouds seemed to dance with the joy of existence, a choreographed performance to the symphony of the setting sun.
I found myself lost in the moment, a solitary figure suspended between heaven and earth, caught in the embrace of an ephemeral beauty. The world below whispered of untold stories, of winters past and springs to come, of the endless cycle of life that pulsed beneath the frost. It was a moment of profound connection, a fleeting communion with the heartbeat of the planet.
When Pam and I lived in an converted mill house on Malloryville Road one walk we’d take with cameras was out the front door, turn right and walk the road to the hilltop to take in the views.
“October Evening on Fall Creek Farmland”
Ripe corn on Malloryville Road from a hill above the Fall Creek valley.
Click any photograph to visit my OnLine Gallery “Finger Lakes Memories.”
“Into the Distance”
Fall Creek Valley view from Malloryville Road looking southwest. In the far distance is Connecticut Hill. You can see the towers of Ithaca College from here, but not in this photograph.
“Harvested Field”
Here are more views from this Harvest View evening. Click the link to go there.
On a brisk day at Stewart Park, I stroll alongside Cayuga Lake, observing Canadian Geese and white willows. The tranquil, interconnected scene proves an enduring memory despite everyday worries.
In twilight’s hush, embraced by oaks,
A well of stone, with stories etched in lace,
Now table made, where others’ whispers weave,
And time’s soft hands a tapestry conceive.
Join me on a journey through Inishmore, Galway Bay on a horse-drawn carriage. We’ll see a ruined church, horse pasture, and iron age fort, Dun Aengus, with reflections on the word ‘riven.’
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 