But even before that, while it was still pitch black and 4 AM I looked up and there was a comet flying across the universe. It was one of those moments that make one look around to see if anyone else caught it because you aren't sure you even believe what you're seeing. Capt Tom was laying on a dock locker looking up watching and smiling. For good measure, once that one flew out of the horizon, another one shot across the sky, skimming in and then quickly out of the atmosphere.
Once we finally headed out to the deep blue sea, I was taken back by the calmness of the ocean. It was blue sapphire, not the sea. Then it happened. One of those sunrises that stop you, force you to watch, to consider your place in the world and realize with no uncertainty that with or without you the show will go on. The kind of sunrise that is so close you swear you can see the sunspots swirling. So red on the azure sky, a long, blood finger reaching across the sea almost pushing the boat along.
I went for my phone but, fuck that. That was for me. Not you, not anyone who wasn't up and on the sea. It was my inside joke with the sun and sea. It was humbling. It connected me to the parts of the universe I know I'll never see except maybe in books or on the interwebs. It was something we're all a part of, all made up of.
It was fucking awesome.