Easter Sunrise at Jekyll Island - My Favorite Photograph of 2025

Sunrise on Boneyard Beach

My favorite Photo of 2025

The sound of the waves and the scent of salt grew stronger as I walked along the sandy path to Jekyll Island’s Boneyard Beach. The night sky was lifting, revealing the first thin streaks of color on the horizon. All around me, the dawn began to illuminate the fallen trees, turning their jagged silhouettes into magnificent works of art.

It was Easter.

This is where my favorite photograph of 2025 was created.

What makes a photograph a favorite is not always technical perfection or even rarity. Sometimes it is the way an image holds a moment you didn’t expect or even know you needed.

Our journey to that Jekyll Island sunrise followed a long season of service that began years ago. Ever since my stepfather, Johnny, died, Bill and I have maintained a constant rhythm of helping my Mom with ongoing projects at her home and in her yard. This year, that commitment collided with a new challenge when Bill’s stepfather, Walter, suffered a major health crisis. Assisting with his care and rehabilitation required an intense, time-consuming effort from both Bill and me. While we consider it a privilege to support our families, early 2025 proved particularly taxing. Layered beneath those demands was the unaddressed loss of our dog, Doodle. He had passed away in February after seventeen years as a beloved member of our family. We hadn't yet stopped to fully process his absence. Life had been moving fast, and we had been meeting it head-on. But we were tired.

The week before Easter had been busy and hectic, just like the preceding weeks and months. We had managed to get Walter temporarily situated and had tackled a long list of repair and maintenance items at my Mom’s home. We even hosted a joyous double celebration for Easter and my niece’s baby shower on Saturday. But by the time the dishes were all put away and the last guest departed, we realized that we had an unexpected opening in our schedules. So without any planning at all, we hugged my Mom goodbye, jumped into VanGo, and headed south. We had no reservations and no clear destination, just a rare few days without any pressing obligations.

We drove until fatigue caught up with us somewhere near Brunswick, Georgia, and spent the night ‘boondocking’ in a Lowe’s parking lot. Early the next morning, we woke before sunrise and continued on toward Jekyll Island. When I realized we had just enough time to reach Boneyard Beach before the sun broke the horizon, that became our destination.

We arrived later than I would have preferred had this had been a planned destination. Ideally, I like to be in position thirty minutes before sunrise, when the pre-dawn colors first begin. That morning, I had no more than fifteen minutes to trudge through the soft sand and select a composition. I felt pressured to work quickly.

I spotted a composition I liked, but another photographer was already there. I hesitated. I didn’t want to crowd him or ‘borrow’ his vision. But as the sky deepened into brilliant pinks and oranges, I knew I couldn’t wait. I walked closer and apologized quietly. Then, I saw it.

A long, graceful branch extended from an overturned tree, curving gently away from the surf. With each wave, water washed softly over parts of the wood, then slipped back toward the ocean again. It was a striking composition that offered the possibility of a long exposure that could hold both stillness and motion. I worked quickly, testing settings and settling into a decision on how to best frame the tree against the coming light. I settled on a shutter speed of 1/6 sec; ISO 100 and f8. No filters; there was no time for that!

I captured a handful of frames. As the sky brightened and the colors faded, I stood up somewhat content with the results.

But Bill and I stayed on the beach.

Feeling no urgency at all, we stood propped up against the heavy branch of an overturned tree for almost thirty minutes. We listened to the waves and watched shorebirds wade through the sea foam in search of breakfast. It was a stillness we hadn’t allowed ourselves in a long time.

Easter is, at its heart, a story of darkness giving way to light, of life emerging where loss once stood. Standing on that beach, surrounded by fallen trees as the sun rose, I felt the truth of The Resurrection in a way that didn’t need explanation.

Nothing about that morning erased the weariness or loss of the months prior. Walter still faced challenges that would demand our attention. Doodle was still gone. The responsibilities waiting at home had not disappeared. But for those thirty minutes on the beach, something inside me settled.

When I look at “Easter Sunrise on Jekyll’s Boneyard Beach,” I do not see just driftwood and color in the sky. I remember standing beside Bill with no agenda and no urgency. I remember feeling tired but no longer heavy. The image is not my most technically perfect photograph of 2025, but it is the one that reminds me of restoration and renewal.

It is for me, the essence of Easter.