Words & Photo Shelley Tice
The first light of a new year has a way of steadying us. It asks nothing, rushes nothing, and yet quietly reminds us that fresh beginnings don’t need fanfare – just space.
On a crisp Sunday morning, I found that space at Island View Beach, wrapped in layers, holding a warm tea, and following the sound of the waves toward the horizon.
I arrived while the sky was still an inky blue, the kind of winter darkness that blurs land and water. Even in the quiet, I wasn’t alone. Cars pulled into the lot one by one, headlights briefly sweeping across the driftwood before cutting out. It turns out that sunrise seekers are a dedicated bunch. We gathered without gathering, each person settling into their own stretch of shoreline, waiting for the day to begin.
The air hovered around zero – one of the perks of living on the West Coast. There is something grounding about walking alone at dawn, when the world feels paused. No emails, no news, no to-do lists, just the steady rhythm of the tide easing in and out.
And then, slowly, the sky began its quiet unveiling.
As the light grew, the beach began to stir to life as the birds took flight. It struck me how alive the morning is once the darkness lifts, and how rarely we give ourselves the chance to witness it. The water mirrored each change in the sky, shifting like a painter testing new shades. And when the sun finally edged above the horizon, its first warm glow stretched across the water toward the shore.
Standing there, hands wrapped around my warm drink, I felt something settle inside me, a small, unexpected clarity. A reminder that beginnings don’t always start on January 1. Sometimes they start when you step outside your routine and give yourself enough stillness to notice the subtle beauty you usually pass by.
Island View Beach has always been a family favourite for long summer walks, but winter sunrise has its own appeal. There’s a shared magic among the few who show up that early, most of us strangers, yet connected by the simple intention to greet the day. As the sun finally crested the horizon, casting long shadowed light across the sand, a quiet sense of gratitude washed over me – for this coastline, for these mild winters, and for the gentle invitation a rising sun offers: start again.
