Hard Night, Beautiful Morning

I slept hard last night. Nightmare, of hate and anger. Displaced, afraid. Real fear that they were coming to get me, and that I would die in their hands. (I don’t know who they were, maybe Nazi’s.  With tanks. And soldiers marching.)  Then, in the dream, I told myself I was dreaming. And that I could combat their hate and anger and fear with love.

I did. I turned the tide, I sent the fear packing, I taught them that they deserved love, and they lay down their arms.

Still, it was a hard and terrifying dream.

Not sure what brought it on. Probably some deep-seated stuff, from the past.

Whatever. This morning I awoke early, around 5:30. My room was cool, I could hear the faint hum of the ceiling fan. I tried to go back to sleep but decided about 20 minutes later that that was not happening. I got up, tried to write, and did, but not sure it’s worthy of publication. I need to re-read and edit.

I decided it was time for me to see the sunrise here in my new hometown. So I quickly got dressed in my bathing suit top, and a skort, and drove the short mile or so to the beach. I parked along the street, as the first rays of dawn broke the sky.

There is a long fishing pier on the beach. I headed down the pier, into the gray and pink early morning light. The pier was dotted with a few fishermen, people walking dogs, people exercising. But not more than a dozen people in all. They all greeted me, everyone, with a “Good morning.”

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Felt like I was taken into a brother/sisterhood, of people who love the morning. I walked to the end of the pier. I guess it’s maybe 500′ long? I’m a bad judge of distance.

On the way, I passed a gull on the rail, so still I didn’t think it was real. He just watched me as I passed by. Then, a great blue heron flew in and landed on the rail, about 100′ in front of me. As I approached, taking my camera out of my pocket, it flew away.

I got to the end of the pier, and sat on a bench. I was alone. I set my cup of coffee next to me and closed my eyes and just breathed. Tried to take in that this was now my home. Listened to nothing but the sounds of the sea birds, and worked at finding peace again, the remnants of that nightmare still on the fringes of my psyche.

When I opened my eyes again, the sky to the east was breaking dawn. Turning the clouds pink, and gold. It is something I will never tire of, seeing a day come in over the water like that.

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There were a lot of boats anchored in the bay, many with their dinghies laying in the water behind them, signaling that they were aboard. I thought how lovely a place to anchor out. One boat had two dinghies behind it. I made up a story in my head of people coming from one boat to the other, drinking wine and talking late into the night, too late and too dark to find their way back to their own boat, and staying with friends instead. Like Van Morrison’s song, “So Quiet in Here”. “this must be what paradise is like, so quiet in here….”

After awhile, two women came walking past my bench, and struck up a conversation. One of them had a dog, she did not stay long, her dog was anxious to go. But the other woman and I talked. She’s lived here for 20-something years. She used to live in Philly and Martha’s Vineyard. We talked about the Vineyard, and the breach that happened about 8 years ago in the south beach, and changed the whole nature of Katama Bay, and made Chappaquiddick a real island.

She walks often, she said, so maybe I’ll see her again there. Her name was Mary.

I got up and walked back down the pier Most of the fishermen had gone by then. I walked along the sidewalks, past what says is a casino, but is really a dance hall now, advertising lessons and dancing in fox trot, tango…ballroom dancing, for $8. No partner needed. Might be fun to learn the tango. Outside is a sculpture which says this town is Florida’s best kept secret. I’m beginning to agree. I walked past the permanent beach vollyball courts, and along the beach for a while.

As the town woke up, I headed back home, to record this, my first sunrise here. What a lovely way to start the day. I think it may become a habit.

Love and light.

4 responses to “Hard Night, Beautiful Morning

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