The waves enticingly lap at the shore this early morning where the mist obscures the break between sky and sand. There are only ripples of water in this presunrise instant of emptiness. Soon the shoreline, now absent the accouterments of summer, will burst with brightly colored pails and short-handled shovels. Colored plastic utensils will litter the horizon and provide hours of silly sandcastles, backbreaking bottomless holes, and relatives buried neck deep in beach. Now, though, it is just the gulls and me enjoying the rhythms of this life of earned pause.