It always begins with the silence and darkness of the night, that deep blackness that envelops everything familiar in mystery. When I go for a session before dawn, I feel how the night’s silence amplifies my senses, awakening something primal, almost mystical, within me. Every step on the sand, every whisper of the sea seems more intense, full of hidden meanings.

It’s as if the night sky, before yielding to the day, wants to share its secrets with me, the last whispers before dawn. As I reach the shore, slowly, almost shyly, the night’s blackness begins to retreat, revealing the first light of the coming day. And then this place, this old breakwater covered in plants, becomes something more than just a view. It’s like a gateway to another world, where every second of the morning takes on a new, deeper significance. That moment, when night gives way to day, heightens within me the feeling that I am witnessing something beyond comprehension. Here I stand, wrapped in the remnants of darkness, on the edge of night and day, while around me nature awakens from its dreamy slumber. At this moment, everything seems full of hidden energy, as if the silence and blackness that surrounded me just moments ago were a prelude to the magic that is about to unfold in the glow of the rising sun.

It’s still early when I reach the shore. The air is cool, imbued with the scent of salt and the dampness of the morning. I stand on the sand and for a moment, I just listen—the sound of the waves, the quiet song of the birds, and the whispers of the wind hovering over the water. On the horizon, the sky begins to awaken, spreading pastel colors that paint the heavens and reflect on the calm surface of the sea.

In front of me, in the water, stands the old breakwater. Over the years, it has become a silent witness to a thousand such mornings. Once mighty, now worn by time, bent under the weight of years and tides, covered in moss and small plants that have found refuge there. It is no longer just a barrier for the waves—it’s a place full of life, a small world unto itself.

I look at the birds circling around the breakwater. Some rest on the wet planks, others dive, searching for food. Something in this sight calms me, makes me feel a part of this place. Every drop of water, every leaf of the plant on the breakwater, every bird—everything forms a harmonious whole, as if the sea and the sky are speaking to me in a mysterious, quiet language.

I gaze at this scene and feel the sun beginning to gently warm my face. The sunrise over the Baltic always holds something magical. There’s something incredibly intimate in it, as if the whole world is still asleep, and I have the privilege of witnessing this miracle. This breakwater, in its own way, is alive too, though its life is different, more peaceful. It’s a bridge between water and land, a haven for birds, fish, and my thoughts.

This place, this moment, is like a whisper—quiet but full of meaning. And although I know that soon the sun will rise higher and everything will change, for this brief moment, I feel that I am a part of something greater, something that will last longer than this sunrise, longer than my life. In this moment, above this breakwater, I find peace.

• Camera: Canon 5 DsR
• Lens: 16-35mm
• Filters: Lee
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