It was hard to believe that as I sat on the beach, I was waiting for the last sunrise.  It would be the last time the seagulls would swirl in the sky.  It would be the last time the old beachcomber in his flowered shirt would walk by.  It would be the last time I turn a page in my journal to write of the moments of my life.  It would be the last time I would even get to think of such things.

For over a year, we, the citizenry of the world, had been watching the clock tick down.  For over a year, we had been reluctantly ripping the days of the calendar away.  And now the pages are no more and the ticks and the tocks of the clock are down to a meager few.   

How did we ever arrive at the moment we knew would one day have to come but always believed would never come?

What's left?  What's left?

What shall I write on these final pages of human history?  And what will become of them?

For a moment I wait ... and behold, out there in the distant cold waters, a whale breeches and the gulls fly to meet her.

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