I haven’t posted in a while because we’ve been in Florida relaxing, sitting, reading, and sometimes just staring. Except for jotting down observations in my journal, I haven’t written a thing beyond a few short posts on Facebook and necessary responses to email & messages by iPhone. I guess you could say, I’ve mostly been offline. It was a restful time, but I’ve missed blogging. So here I am again with reflections from early one morning.
It’s early as I step out on the balcony, coffee cup and journal in hand. No breath of wind, the sea below is a glassy aqua.
Where waves pounded the shore this time last week, only lulling swells lap against the shoreline in a chorus of swish-swoosh. Each swish drapes the shore with ethereal white lace that dissolves with the next swoosh.
In the distance, small birds rock on blue water looking for a seafood buffet. A barge towed by a small tugboat works its way across the gray horizon, and I idly wonder what their business is this early morning.
The same breeze that cools my cheek and bare arms glides across the ocean below, producing more rickrack than ruffles on its surface.
A line of pelicans flies by overhead.
Another bathwater day as Terry calls it—calm, gentle—perfect for small children or for Mom to soak away the weariness in her soul.
A father, mother, and preteen daughter pause at the end of our boardwalk for a picture of the girl, and she throws out her arms, tilting her head in such a way that I although I can’t see it, I know she’s smiling. They make their way down the steps and across the sand to the water’s edge, where they proceed in follow-the-leader single file, heads tipped down, probably looking for shells or that Elusive Sand Dollar.
Within minutes they switch directions, angling back across the sand toward the boardwalk. Daughter gravitates to Dad, momentarily clutching his upper arm. As they pass beneath my perch, I want to call out, “Enjoy her company. The time is fleeting. Too soon, she may elect to sleep-in instead taking of an early morning walk with you.”
Having just attended my youngest granddaughter’s graduation, I’m almost painfully conscious of the rush of time. I couldn’t help wondering if her dad’s short, solitary sojourn on their back patio just before our departure that morning was his way of putting on his armor.
Later when we teased about handing out tissues for the ceremony, he grinned and declared, “I’m happy!”
We all echoed, “So are we.”
And we were happy to celebrate her accomplishments and pleased she’ll be going to college in the fall.
Still, it was bittersweet as is any change of season.
See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.