We have just returned from vacation. Every year we spend two weeks on an ocean beach on Long Island. There I know that I am truly on an island jutting way out into the Atlantic. I enjoy that feeling of looking East, out to sea and thinking that just over that horizon, right out there, someone is sitting on the Costa Do Sol; perhaps he is looking West and thinking what I'm thinking (but in Portuguese). This feeling pervades my sense of being "on vacation."

It's fun to play in the surf for a short while and the sand is fun if you are old enough to act like a kid, (and I am). And dinner in a different restaurant each night is OK—more for my wife than for me. Lolling under a beach umbrella is fine for a while and a walk down the beach is nice. These are all very pleasant, but I have a very special happy time.

The highlight of my holiday starts each morning in the darkness before dawn. The last thing to do the night before is to put two cups of water in the kettle, put the kettle on the stove, put bread in the toaster, lay out a pair of shorts, ready for tomorrow. (Memorize the exact position of the cup, the sugar and other necessaries.) Our large room on the beach is both bedroom and kitchen so I have to be quiet as a mouse tomorrow. Check the almanac for time of sunrise then off to sleep.

I awake and fumble for a watch in the blackness. Is it time? Yes - the sun rises in half an hour, hurry. Carefully avoiding furniture I click on the stove and watch for its red glow - then very quietly press down the toaster. Pull on the few clothes required. Peek out around the heavy drapes which cover the windows. Good, it's still pitch black out there; the time is right.

Five minutes later I'm slowly, carefully, sliding back the door onto the deck - halfway is enough. Then, tiptoe back, pick up the steaming coffee cup and the plate with two slices of buttered raisin toast. Slip through the door sideways, first the toast, then me, then the cup. We're out and now we can be a little noisier.

The deck faces south and there is a two bar wooden rail. I put my burdens on the rail and go back to ease the door closed. Pick up a chair and place it in position. The years have taught me to place it so that, when I sit and push the chair up to a dangerous angle (as I was taught never to do), the rear legs of the chair will be in exactly the right place for proper balance with my feet on the upper rail. Also the cup and plate must be on the lower rail precisely to hand.

A quick glance to the East - yes we're in time. It's time to really relax and enjoy the moment. Two miles out to sea the dancing lights of a commercial fishing vessel flash in the darkness.

The coffee is delicious, better than at any other time, a very special flavor. And warm buttered raisin toast is another of my favorite taste treats. Take a little of one then a little of the other. But - there's another, very different flavor, that of toast and coffee blended together. Each seems the best but there's a limited supply out here on the deck - renewable only with a great deal of trouble. So we must choose; a little of this - a little of that - then this - then that. Umm - life is good.

But down to the matter in hand. Are the stars a little paler? Is the sky lightening a bit in the east? Perhaps, look along the horizon to the south, then to the north, is it brighter? My bare feet are on the top rail almost obscuring the horizon. "Down in front."

Yes, the blackness is just a bit less intense in one spot. Now we can see that there are no clouds this morning. It's going to be a great sunrise. There is no breeze, there is no sound. The tall thin beach grasses are still. The sea gulls won't fly until they can see. The world is mine alone.

One piece of toast is gone, and the cup if half empty (perfect planning, as you know, requires that you come out even). And which flavor is best? There is still a three way tie.

Check the east then look quickly to the west - Oh yes, there's a big difference now; the sun is on its way. I can see dimly down the beach - it's empty. The breakers beat against the sand and slide quickly up to the littoral line leaving their untidy burdens, then they seem to dry into the thirsty sand.

It's quite bright now - the east is a bright gray and the place where the sun is going to rise is unmistakable. Soon now. I peer at my watch - a few minutes more. Is that? - Yes a frightened young deer stands just 100 feet away across the dunes. He's hardly bigger than a large dog. His big black ears are straight up, focused directly at me. His large round eyes are staring at me - and I'm staring at him with eyes just as big. We're both afraid to move. He is almost invisible as he stands motionless in the pre-dawn light. Ten seconds later there is a flash of his white tail and he's gone.

Then, a bright golden pinpoint becomes a larger speck on the horizon - it expands rapidly - unbelievably fast. It's already half a disk; too bright to watch. Suddenly things around me have shadows! The post, the rails, the dunes - the visible world is here. The black and whites of a minute ago become colors. The earth rolls a bit more and the sun rises higher in the sky. Its rays warm the skin - that early morning chill is gone. It is summer at the beach.

The fishing boat is clearly visible now, its long twin booms poking the sky and spreading wide the mouth of its seine net. Those fish will be on the table in the Hamptons tonight.

Now I can scan the horizon, that sharp line where the dark green sea meets the blue sky. I search for ships along that line from the bright East to the still gray West. Many years ago I was taught to maintain a watch at sea just a few degrees above the horizon - to avoid the insensitive center of the eye. It still works! Almost due south there is a tiny sail - someone who has been sailing overnight. Maybe he is inbound from Bermuda, or Europe; how my imagination can run with that idea.

Back on the deck, overlooking the beach I lick my fingers and try to pick up the last tiny crumbs on the plate - the coffee is cold, but I drain the cup. It's still good. Early morning joggers start to appear - they think they're the first. A day at the beach has begun.