It is late October. At five-thirty in the morning it is still very dark and night-like. But I am making my way down a narrow wooded sanctuary path at the Lloyd Centerand headed for a dock and waiting whaleboat along the 
Slocum's River.
My head lamp guides my way and helps me dodge some of the protruding roots, stumps and rocks that work to hold the earth and me back in whatever way possible. In the midst of this gentle and pristine quietness it is apparent too, that I am not alone. Ahead, left and right,, forest creatures scurry under brush, and something with wings flaps upward into higher branches as I make my way. It becomes obvious that the "clink" of stones underfoot and the bailing buckets I am carrying are making too much noise, so I slow my pace and choose my footsteps, trying to be a less intrusive visitor.
The trail winds left and right, then over a rise into a tiny clearing that in predawn darkness requires choices of which way to go next. I've learned to just keep bearing right which dips down alongside a gloriously aromatic saltmash, where woodland yields to marsh grass, tidal pools and open water. This ancient intersection, especially at this hour of day, dissolves any sense of urgency I might have and stops me silent. Here, in this reverent moment hints of dawn and red begin to lighten the eastern sky. The far-off squawk of gulls and the stirring and clacking of nearby waterfowl in inlet pockets makes me appreciate that many besides myself are poised to rise into a brand new day.Slowly, if not somewhat reluctantly, I walk onward as the path opens to the river, wooden dock and waiting row boat.
