At 6:30 Molly came into the bedroom, her toe nails clicking on of the bare wooden floors. She gave her most heartfelt moan. So I got up, I made myself coffee and toast -- I WANT coffee and toast before I do anything else. Molly whined piteously and made demonstrative dashes toward the front door. No, I was not to sit down and enjoy my coffee and toast. She couldn't deal with that. So I got dressed in between mouthfuls and sips and gathered up car keys and my wallet, because I would definitely stop stop for a $5 [YES! This is called addiction] NY Times on the way back.
And then we were off. And it was beautiful! The sun was new and warm, the sky was as pure a blue as possible, it was a beautiful morning for photographs. Molly and I had a nice long walk to and past the shell tree which I photographed [which will be added later], because I lost my photos in my computer crash a year ago. It was a Robert Lewis Stevenson morning, "All's right with the world". No hint of yesterday's gray and drizzle except a few puddles. The tide was as low as it could be and I had a nice expanse of hard packed sand to walk on. There were fresh barefoot prints and sneaker prints and the print of a gigantic dog -- at least a Great Dane or St. Bernard, twice the size of Molly's prints and Molly isn't small, she's part German Shepherd. Gulls were crying and the sea was quite and calm and only five or six people were around. A couple of silent meditators many yards apart, gazed at the ocean and said "morning."
What more could you want? I've had very little of the beach and ocean in my life; it's still a wonderful novelty. Yes, at 7-0, rare moments. I must have done something right. When it is easy to be content, isn't that enough? And then I had my expensive paper, a second breakfast on the patio with the sun at my back. It's a short break but as good as it gets. I already know it will stay with me as summer ends and another season begins ... oh, how fast the seasons chase one another! But savoring what I have is the best response to that feeling of life racing, racing onward.
Sumita Dutta writes and shoots - *The Old Woman’s Tale* “The Old Woman’s escaping!” reported my sons. The flood water rising high had vanquished Six feet tall gates and barbed wire crown...
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