Not much to report ... sitting here waiting for the Sun to rise .... looking out at a calm Atlantic ... M, the Kids and Grandkids are back at the house sleeping, most likely. The lifeguard stands, where they are, remain empty for another four and a half hours. Mostly couples have come to offer up praise to Eos for her pink sky or to mouth the words I recall from Psalms ... Mah Gadlu Ma'asecha, Yah ... How grand are your creations, God ... M'od Amku Machschvosecha ... How very deep your thoughts. CAUTION: Seaward Cuurents may exist. Signs of a universe only apparently self-aware. Last night, the kids went to say good-night to the Sun, while M and I went to hear a reading of a new play. The local Shrink and her husband's 12 year old (who looked 16) was one of the central characters. An acting out Goth teenager growing up without a father in a little town was repeatedly threatened by her Mother with being sent to live with Grandma in Chincoteague, the town in which we have parked ourselves for 34 Summers and the very same town in which the play had its first public reading. The hall in which this was staged was pretty full and had that nursing home smell of a Senior Center, its previous incarnation. The AC failed, last night. A laughing gull just cawed, as if to say: What y'complainin' about, Bud. 'I wasn't,' Herr Segal, 'just sayin'.' Thar she blos. Deep Pink .. top half visible not out of the Atlantic but above a misty horizon ... She's late, the Sun, she is ... and her audience of 30 or 40 are now visible ... all visibly facing East toward her ... She's bright Pink now and they're, I imagine, each trying to figure out their purpose in standing erect on the surface of one of her smaller satellites ... Mama Earth ... or, at least, I am ... sitting here at the edge or is ot on the edge? She's free of the mist, now ... promising another 95 degree day.