One of the things I loved about my island, before Frank blew up my boat and set everything on fire, was waking to the quiet in the mornings. Before daylight, after the crickets and the frogs quit, there was a momentary pause. Often several minutes. When all the world stood in silence and you wondered if your ears worked at all. It was as if all of creation just stopped and stared in wonder at what was about to happen. That the sun was about to rise. That light would once again pierce the darkness, and the darkness would roll back like a scroll.
