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.

THE QUAHOG REPUBLIC VIBE

Written 8/4/09

Across the channel, nestled among the trees, are big old summer houses.  They stretch as far as I can see from my view here at the Quahog Republic. Sandy beaches line the shores on that side and this. The sun is bright, the sky baby blue and a whitish haze hovers above the tree line in the distance.  Sand chairs of many colors have their backs to me on the beach below.  The grownups’ heads are covered with hats and children play in the sand.  Moored boats bob lazily in water so calm.  Time slows down here on Mashnee Island.

I’m on Cape Cod but I could be in the Caribbean.  The breeze blows gently through the open window.  Jimmy Buffett’s music serenades.  A small skiff with a sail of blue glides slowly by as one with a motor speeds to shore.  The people on the beach didn’t come by car.  They arrived by boat with their gear in tow.  Things move very slowly as I see outside.  And here in my chair I catch the vibe.  A glass of wine, a pen in my hand and I relax inside.

A wooden raft 30 feet out brings me back to when I was a kid.  Jumping off, then climbing back up, rocking with the water as I lay down on those hard boards. Somehow, they didn’t seem hard then. The kids out there now are doing the same.  Some things are timeless.  

Free, with time standing still, it surrounds us all here on Mashnee Island.  New kayakers go back and forth.  Community boating is alive and well as small sails fill the channel and add to the color.  Gulls are overhead.  One catches my eye as he glides and swoops. I think he could be Jonathan Livingston Seagull.  Just like velvet, he coasts.  I’m mesmerized as I watch his journey and I can only imagine his view from above.

 There is so much activity in this lazy scene when I take the time to see.  Yet a peace abounds and infiltrates the air, erasing life’s stresses as it takes me away.  A gray haired guy stands below.  Oars in his hand, a life jacket thrown over his shoulder, he waits for someone while he sings and dances in place to ‘Rocking in the Free World’.  Reggae plays now as I feel the breeze and move my shoulders to the rhythm,   I found a gem today, for I will come back to my new island habitat.