Part of the challenge in writing, for me, is the difficulty finding words that describe the fullness of any experience. Like this morning - - getting up in the predawn darkness, choosing to keep vigil awaiting the coming of first light. I can tell you what I saw, the initial "dull glow" of the flag pole, then gradually white caps coming into sight, cloud formations in various shades of gray becoming visible, then the moving water, the waves, the eventual sight of the distant horizon, the appearance of a fairly large bird (pelican)in the sky, the changing colors as light grows. What is not so easy to express is what the experience of witnessing all of this is like. The realization that such happenings are a daily occurrence, are profoundly beautiful, touch "places" in me that no words adequately express even as I am moved almost to tears at beholding what, because of its dailiness, could seem ordinary but in these moments have a quality of sacredness about them, this light becoming! Even as I write the scene shifts and the sun shows up reflecting in pink hues off the clouds. As that happens the water looks darker, don't know what name to give the color as it is changing subtly, becoming more uneven. Why would I ever want to miss this unfoldidng of a new day? And, as I wonder, I suspect the tears come from the awareness of having missed so many, the real grief in that, those missd opportunities. The breaking in of light announcing a new day, truly seems like "sacrament if ever there is one. How can it be? - - That such a daily event can be so breathtakingly lovely, so magnetic in its attraction that I resist looking away?
Why is it so gratifying to see that lone beach walker bundled up against the early morning chill, strolling at the waters edge? And, now,, three more! I have a sense of walking with them, these witnesses, for me in this moment, f what really matters! Lots more to ponder!
How did your day begin and what are you pondering?
January 12, 2019, Seagrove Beach
A little change in the rhythm of the day - - got up, dressed, and out to get donuts, came home, ate one wth coffee in front of lighted candle, sea shells and Emmas' Santa Claus, Paula's little trinket, all on Mary's place mat now become "altar cloth." An overcast morning after several days of sunshine. More movement in the water, foamy whitecaps splashing onto shore - - a lone fisherman, a neighbor I think, standing guard near his poles which are secured into the sand. The yellow flag, one minute, hanging limply, the next being blown away from the pole toward the west.