In the greyish-blue twilight of a fresh early evening, Best Friend and I escaped from our home and drove a couple short miles to the old part of town. We parked the car along the waterfront, drifted over to a bench built for two, and we snuggled in. The heat of the day still lingered heavily in the air, yet the crisp, cool breezes off the bay and the anticipation of watching the sun dip dramatically below the horizon made us disregard that heat.
I detected that the breeze and the lateness of the day made the usually bluish-green hue of the choppy water turn a gloomy blackish-grey. As I stared at the spot in front of me, it didn’t really look like water. Instead, it appeared so dark as to be reminiscent of undulating tar. The more I stared at the water, the more it became black, the more it looked like tar, the more it undulated.
Best Friend and I got up, held hands, and wandered in a westerly direction along the railing next to the bay. Pelicans silently flew overhead and over the expanse of the bay – not one stopped on the lawn nor sidewalk to plead for a nosh, as they usually do. Instead, that evening they were making a beeline for the ships in the harbor. Perhaps dinner was more of a delicious guarantee on deck.
A large, fat gull sat on the railing facing the sunset, long enough for us to admire his white and grey feathers. With a stretch of his wings and a push off the railing, he was out over the water, but not before I could snap a picture of him.
In the distance, a lone sailboat bounced in the bay.
Serenity prospered and offered to all who would take it, the pacific beauty in an otherwise insanely troubled world.
✿●▬●✿ ©2023 The Oasis at Four Queen Palms ✿●▬●✿
Excerpt from my upcoming new book, “A Hopeful World,” ©2023