Look out your window.
What do you see?
I see sunny bays.
I have a very comfortable lift chair.
One that faces my sliding glass door. Each morning, the nurses settle me there.
I wish they would do it in time for me to see the sun rise. That would be so beautiful. But they usually don't set me until after 8 AM.
Nevertheless, it is still beautiful. Much better than TV. I do have my tablet with me, with fifty ways to play solitaire. But most of the time, I just love to stare and let my mind float away.
The palm trees are gently swaying. The beach is pristine, the sand reflecting golden in the morning sunlight. When the tide is low, a strip of sand juts out and separates the bay into two.
There are a few beach umbrellas, striped red and white, with the logo for the Bay Resort splashed at the top. In the distance, I can see a lifeguard station. He is not yet on duty.
The beach is empty, at least at first. A young family sets out camp, with beach towels and not much else. Mama has sunglasses and a paperback, the young children have shovels and pails, and the father has a Frisbee. I'm surprised they don't have a dog -but then, as if on cue, a teenager appears, a hyper cocker spaniel at his heels.
Others arrive, the beach filling out.
The waves are modest. Still, I could hear the rhythmic motion of the ocean even through my closed glass door.
The tablet lay unopened on my lap. I don't need it. I'm somewhere else. I'm on the beach, Melinda holding my hand. Before we settle down, we race to the ocean. It is not as warm as I hoped, but it is bracing, and we quickly adjust. The water is up to our shoulders. I hold her close, and we kiss.
The current pulls at us, wanting to take us further out to sea.
This time, we do not resist.
The tablet drops from my lap.
No comments:
Post a Comment