Daddy had come home the day before from his posting across the country to welcome his first grandchild to the world, and he was sitting with Mama on the swing. They smiled, and I sat between them, watching the world lighten surrounded by the scent of coffee and tobacco.

A. B. England´s last blog post..Star Trek: My Introduction into Science Fiction

I love watching the sun rise over the hills in the ‘Land of the morning calm,’ as Korea is known.

Just beautiful.

Andrew´s last blog post..Should copyright infringers be disconnected?

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I’m still groggy from the night before. The room next door is still snoring away, the walls are that thin. Outside, the hotel shuttle is running. Few guests care to climb up and down the small hills or make the less than a quarter of a mile trek to breakfast on foot. By the time I’ve showered and run a comb to tame a snapping mess of wet hair, the neighbors next door have woken up and begun the first round of drinking and arguments. I hurry outside into the heat and humidity, feeling it sink to the very core, and breathe. Just breathe. Costa Rica is beautiful every morning of every day — even with a rum hangover.

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We haven’t slept. We tried; the cold, the shivering, the floating pockets of conversation were too great. Somehow our little mass of humanity survived a frigid autumn night on the side a mountain whose dusty slope would, in a month’s time, become coated with white and tumbling skiers. The music is still going. No one wants to venture from the safety of blankets, jackets, and the rare sleeping bag. Then, silence.

For the first time since yesterday afternoon there is silence. On the stage below the hands strip away and add speakers, turntables. Gone is the neon, the oversize projector screens, the set pieces. There is only one man and a long table of spinning vinyl disks. He doesn’t wave, doesn’t acknowledge the intrepid few who survived the crisp night.

One note breaks into the din of sleepy conversation. We look at each other. Say our goodbyes. We break into the small pieces that until last night had never met and will never come together again. My girlfriend and I climb higher up the mountain face to settle upon a pair of rocks and wait.. One note is now many. The music surrounds. No longer a wide open mountain but an experience. False dawn. True dawn. Still he plays beats and treble against one another. Warmth seeps in. Tired, in need off coffee, we silently thank the DJ, Alex Patterson, and move on to join the hoi polloi on a sterile Los Angeles freeway.

Fantastic and so evocative. Thank you.

Jenny´s last blog post..She’s Only One, But She Is One

uppington´s last blog post..The Winter that Refused to End

That’s my most recent best morning. Which was this morning.