~ Excerpt from draft of "The Last First Sunrise" ~

~ The Last First Sunrise ~

Chapter One ~

~ It was a calm, quiet day on th' first of May, when th' sky cloakened gray, & th' pines began to sway. 

Edgar Tremond Waits-Delisle, known as Gar on account of his love for swimming, was rambling through th’ woods, enjoying a pleasant springtime day. He was on his way home when th’ weather withered. 

Gar was trudging through a creek, neverminding th’ coolness of th’ splishing water. As he strode along, however, he began to notice th’ spring growing cooler & cooler, until it was nigh cold. 

Th’ lad ignored this, at first — after all, th’ stream had trickled into a deeper glade. However, when chips of ice began to tinkle on his toes, he took pause & stope to investigate.

Gar had always been a curious young man. 

Some would call him peculiar, but he prided himself on his tenacious wonderment for th’ world. 

Even he would be forced to admit, though, he could be somewhat of an aloof airhead when he let his thoughts glide too high into jetstream daydream. 

Gar tilted his head t’ords th’ treetops as he stepped out from th’ water.

Th’ Sun, which had been beaming the Earth with his dazzling rays all afternoon, was fading in-&-out of brilliance as clouds began to drag-in from the ocean afield.

Donning only an unbuttoned flannel over his shirt, & still barefoot, Gar hugged his arms ‘round himself as he began to shiver. His breath hissed-out like sea-mist as he turned t’ords home with a pace of confused astonishment. 

As wind began to sigh over th’ trees, that boy ran into th’ yard of Waits Watch, his family’s stately estate on th’ shore of lovely Bar Harbor. 

Gar climbed upon a ridge overlooking th’ sea. Th’ grand visage of Lafayette National Park boasted behind him. Th’ seaside air of Mount Desert Island, jewel of th’ Maine coast, was wrought into frigid gusto as flurries of snow began to flutter upon th’ peak of Cadillac Mountain.

A high blanket of white wisp had overtaken th’ brilliant blue sky which had shone mere minutes before. In th’ distance, over the eastward Atlantic waters, Gar gazed upon a towering swathe of hideous purple-blackness stampeding t’ords the island without respite. 

Th’ plumes of dark cloud seemed to swirl & writhe amongst themselves, as though a massive horde of Stygian eels had slithered from th’ depths, set to feast upon th’ trembling islandfolk. ~