Today, if I were home, I would still be abed. Hiding from life under the covers and telling myself it was self-care. Here, on the island, I am up with the sun. Coffee is made. Oatmeal consumed. Now it's time for some writing and then off on an adventure.
The wind is wicked this morning. Pelican fishing so close in on the Gulf side. Angry white caps on both the Gulf and the Sound. I watch the pelicans for a while, but it's some low flying raptor that catches my attention. It is struggling mightily against the wind and I wonder what kind of prey is worth that?
The island is so different that it is in Spring when I usually come. No palmetto bugs for one (thank you baby jeesus). The crowd is thinned and more prone to snowbirds than families. The air is different too, less wet, howling, just the way I like it. The angle of the sun is less abrasive, more like a lover's caress. The slanting fall light is beautiful everywhere, but here it is like bathing in liquid rose gold.
I sighed, actually sighed, OUT LOUD when the giant ball of the sun slipped below the horizon last night. I did not join the sacrament of the setting sun in the West End Beach Park the way I will later in the week. Instead I hugged it close to my heart. Breathed in the mercurochrome redness of it. I am home.
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