DK @ Daybreak. 4:38 to 5:32 am, June 20, 2021. 63° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
Tag: beach
Saturday Morning
Saturday Morning
I sat on my patio, wrapped in a blanket…when I noticed that my room was not on the ground floor but on the subfloor beneath, making it closer to the edge where the beach began…I turned on the radio and Nina Simone was singing I Put a Spell on You. The seals were silent, and I could hear the waves in the distance, winter on the West Coast. I sank into bed and slept heavily.
~ Patti Smith, Year of the Monkey (Alfred A. Knopf, September 24, 2019)
Photo: Dream Inn Santa Cruz, CA by Angelo DeSantis
Saturday
Notes:
- Inspired by: “We walked at the edge of the sea, the dog, still young then, running ahead of us. Few people. Gulls. A flock of pelicans circled beyond the swells, then closed their wings and dropped head-long into the dazzle of light and sea. You clapped your hands; the day grew brilliant. Later we sat at a small table with wine and food that tasted of the sea. A perfect day, we said to one another…” ~ Peter Everwine, from “The Day” in Listening Long and Late (via Memory’s Landscape)
- Photographs: Françoise Dufau (France). Photo 1: L’Estuaire (The Estuary). Photo 2: La Dune Du Pilat (The Dune of Pilat). Photo 3: Au-Dessus Des Nuages (Over the Clouds)
Nirvana (-ish)
This morning. (And not Fake News, mostly.)
Sleep in till 7:45 am. Wow. Let’s do that again, and again, and again.
Read the morning papers. Read a few chapters of Patricia Hampl’s new book: The Art of the Wasted Day. And commit to workin’ on this Art today.
A heaping breakfast. Two-egg ham and cheese omelette. Bacon. Pork sausage links. Fresh cut fruit. Fresh baked pastries. And that would be plural on the pastries x 2. These same pastries were dipped in home made strawberry jam.
A short walk to the beach. Me and my breakfast hangover land heavily on the beach chair.
81º F. Partly sunny. (Feels like 92 F.) Warm winds @ 7 mph from the NE.
Miles of soft sand in both directions.
The Atlantic laps the shoreline.
Wispy clouds provide intermittent relief from the sun.
Out in the distance, hulking ocean freighters and their giant steel containers carry their cargo to ports away.
Pelicans, with their massive wing spans and beaks, cruise three feet off the ocean top, and plummet, splashing in search of breakfast. And they come again, and again and again — feeding. I look closely for a wing flap wondering how the maintain their locomotion. Can’t see it. Miracle. All of it.
Paragliders float up high, held aloft by giant multicolored rainbow parachutes. Muffled sounds of jet skis in the distance.
Families and beach goers begin to arrive. Hundreds and hundreds fill the shoreline quietly and peacefully milling, settling, reading, playing, sleeping… children pull out their plastic shovels and pails out of Mom’s beach bag and start building castles…
My toes auger into the soft sand, dark and cool a few inches down.
And, oh yea, there’s a little of something else.
Live & Learn 