WHAT A DAY

Written 11/8/09

The weather this early November Sunday is a gift and I’m soaking it in from this bench where I see the cove empty into the Bay.  The noon sun sparkles a path on the water from way over by the bridge to where I sit.  It speaks of the movement of life, shimmering with silent words of splendor.  Mesmerizing me with movement, its magnificence seems to stretch to infinity.  The air holds a breeze that remembers the gentleness of summer past, while telling of the winter to come.  Sounds of hammering travel from across the cove and walkers behind me make sounds of sand scraping the pavement.  A biker on his Harley is silhouetted on the bridge as he rides by the bay.                                                                                                                                                                                                          

The almost bare tree branches are beautiful in their intricate form, clearly defined by the brilliant blue sky backdrop.  Remaining russet and red leaves, fringe several tree tops high above the row of houses across the water.  A small fishing boat sits emptied, tied to a floating dock that’s littered with its coolers, a lobster trap and other gear.  Several boats still remain in their slips at the marina and a few tied to their moorings dot the cove.  Like the gear on the dock and the boats still in the water, I understand this reluctance to let go of summer.  Not wanting to relinquish its memory, I too stubbornly hold on to any remnants. There will be time enough to stow things away and go inside, but until I absolutely have to, I’m going to totally enjoy all the gifts that come today and relish them with all I’ve got.  I’ll deal with the rest when I have to; another day.