They say if you watch the sun come up in Sunpeak, Wyoming, you forget everything. Your troubles, your past, your worries, even your name. It was the way the sun peaked over the Grand Teton Mountains, painting the snow caps a soft purple. The towering trees would seem to be giving off a golden hue, filtering in the suns golden rays. The people of Sunpeak say it is God’s light reaching out, blessing the town and everyone in it. Photographers take their pictures here every day, but they can never capture the raw beauty of the sunrise. Writers and poets use their imagery to the max, but they still don’t do the sight justice. Artists and painters come close, but no one can manage to capture the thousands of different shades of a single color in their work. Looking at the sunrise here, you would never have guessed there could be so many different shades of colors in one place.

I could see this view every day from my porch. It was rather humorous to see all the tourists gather around Suncrest Point and see their reaction when the sun rose. Most of them didn’t move an inch, some got teary eyed, while others clicked away at their cameras, trying to capture an impossible sight.

When my brother and I were younger, our parents would wake us up on Sunday mornings, just to watch the sun rise. We would truck outside, still bleary eyed from sleep, but we stayed awake. It was that kind of magical time when the sun was not up yet, but birds were starting to chirp and the terrors night were fading away as the sky lightened. We could smell pine trees and fresh air all around, the scent of the woods and the clear morning dew. The air in the mountains was always the best. It was bright and crisp, waking me up as it touched my face like an embrace. Sometimes, in the winter, the air in our house would have the scent of chocolate as my mom made hot chocolate to warm our hands up against the biting cold. I would look forward to these mornings every week, even my brother did too. The two rowdiest and most obnoxious kids in town would sit quietly and watch the sun rise, not wanting to disrupt the magic of the moment.

Some people from town would come and join us, like my best friend Kayla. She would sleep over the night before and wake up with us. She knew it was a tradition for us to watch the sun rise, so she just went along with it. I would recognize the market manager there sometimes who always gave free samples and anything he didn’t sell that day. The museum coordinator was there too, jotting down notes while watching the sun. Mr. and Mrs. McCarty were there too, the innkeepers, usually offering housing to at least half the tourists at the Point. My parents always invited them back to our house for a warm breakfast of eggs and pancakes and anything we wanted really. It was hard to refuse my mother’s cooking, especially on a bitter cold morning. The sweet smell of butter and the salty tang of bacon would bring back anyone who refused. Those mornings would always be filled with pleasant conversation and laughter, as if there was nothing that could possibly be wrong in the world.

I loved those mornings more than anything in the world. The town was filled with the nicest people on the planet; they would always lend a helping hand. I never wanted to leave that town and my childhood mornings that were filled with nothing but happiness and love. It was hard when people started moving away. The McCarty’s had to move because the inn went under, no one wanted to stay at a historic house anymore. Now everyone was concerned with big fancy hotels that served you five-star dining at every meal. When they moved, the tourists stopped coming too. The museum coordinator soon grew too old to climb up the Suncrest Point every morning, so he had to stay home. We still brought him breakfast, but it wasn’t quite the same. The market manager passed away when I was fourteen from old age, but he still made it came to our breakfasts until the week before he died. Only Kayla stayed, but it felt lonely without all the wonderful people we grew up with.

In about a year though, we would be gone too, and our little sunrise breakfasts would continue on without us. It was hard to think about, but it gave me something to look forward to when I came home from college. I knew I would be greeted with the smell of hot chocolate and the tempting scent of meat searing in a pan. My parents and brother would continue on the tradition without us, but it would still go on until the sun never rose again.