My dad called me after hearing about my failed attempt to photograph Coney Island in the snow at sunrise. The day before, I had taken the train at 5AM in five degree weather, to witness the rare sight (for a Floridian) of snow falling along the sea shore. I was already feeling sick, and by the time I stepped onto the empty boardwalk, the wind coming from the Atlantic was so brutal I couldn't feel my legs after only a few minutes. The beach was completely empty, silent in the dead of winter. Everything was covered in this soft blue light, and it was just me and the sea birds on the snow waiting for the sun. I was standing there shivering, excited to photograph it and go back to the subway station, only to press the shutter and realize that my 40 year old camera had frozen. I tried everything I could think of while my fingers went numb, but eventually I gave up and left without a single photograph. I felt completely defeated walking back home through the cold. I was determined to get an image. So the next morning, I asked my friend Bo if she wanted to come with me for attempt number two. With the promise of a homemade PB&J and seeing something beautiful, she agreed.

We stood there together watching the sky slowly change colors over the water. Our shadows elongated over the snow and sand, and the pinks and purples of the sky turned into oranges and then blues. The waves looked frozen in the distance, and back on the boardwalk, the rides sat still behind us, covered in snow. My dad called me later that day and I told him the second attempt had worked. He said, "I'm glad sweetheart, I just wanted to make sure you got your crepúsculo." Crepúsculo is my dad and I's favorite word in Spanish. It means twilight, which is the light just preceding or anteceding the sun. Snow on the beach had always been something I wanted to witness, and that morning, Coney Island felt completely transformed. It was quiet, frozen, and the strangest of all, quiet.