Not sure if I mentioned it, but last month I spent about three weeks being my son's official pre-dawn chauffeur. Yep, every morning, way too early, we’d drive an hour up north to the beach for his athletic training. The point was to beat the sun so he could train for at least an hour and a half before it started blazing like it owned the place—which, to be fair, it kinda does in summers here.

But the best part of these morning drives, for me, was that I got to watch the sunrise every day.

And let me tell you—that became the highlight of my mornings. Every day, without fail, at exactly 5:55 AM. Now, I’ve seen a fair number of sunrises in my life—from mountains and rooftops to airplane windows, quiet lakesides to beaches on both the east and west coasts. They’re always breathtaking. But somehow this series of sunrises felt different. Deeply, soul-touchingly different.

The sky just before sunrise is something else. There's this quiet anticipation in the air, like the universe is holding its breath. The colors change within seconds—from deep indigo to lavender, from fiery orange to the softest pink. It's like the sky is preparing for the birthing of the sun. There's tension, there's grace, there's hope—and then, out of nowhere, the sun peeks through. Not harsh. Not loud. Just this gentle, glowing orange—easy on the eyes and slipping in seamlessly.

And then? BAM. Within minutes, he’s up there like a golden plate—bold and brilliant. No more gentle. Now he’s the king of the sky, owning it like he’s always been there. I found myself folding my hands in a namaste, bowing in pure gratitude—for the day, for life, for being lucky enough to see this miracle again and again.

While creating this tile, my mind drifted to those sunrises—that quiet magic and sense of awe. I realized I had seen the sky preparing for the birthing of the sun every day for three weeks. And every single time, it felt absolutely new. Like the sky was saying, “You think you’ve seen me? Watch this.”

I guess some moments just lodge themselves deep in your heart, only to resurface when you least expect them—while tangling, while walking, while doing something totally unrelated. But maybe that’s the thing about real beauty. It doesn’t just pass you by—it stays, hums quietly in the background, and lights you up from the inside.

Here’s to sunrises, to early morning drives, to unexpected beauty, and to the endless, awe-inspiring art of being alive.

That daily reminder—that something as simple and predictable as the sun rising—can still take your breath away.

Sharing few of my clicks of the beautiful Sunrises.... You can tell my phone could not do any bit of justice to the beauty from real life.