At dusk, the palm fronds are sleepy still. This changes the day's plans--it's probably a paddle board day instead of an early morning beach walk or a kayak paddle. I half dress and walk to the sea. Suspicions confirmed. Knowing the stillness could be fleeting, I run back, pull on a swim suit, struggle into the wet suit, grab the paddle and hurry to the garage to retrieve the board.
The waves are babies. There is no struggle to get past the citadel surf. Less than ten minutes from wet-suit to water, I'm standing on the sea--gliding. As I stand above, I look down and see strips of green and patterns in the sand. Where the sun has peeked through just a sliver of cloud, its rays reach through the water creating iridescent hexagons and a blue reflection in the shape of a sapphire. It's startling, this canvas; I don't ever remember the water so clear.
The next morning the palm fronds are slow dancing, the water not so placid; the waves have graduated to kindergarten. Time to drag out the kayak.
The fog will burn off by 1:00; we need to bike before the sun is too hot.
The next morning, I wonder if Hawaii's hurricane came farther north and east than expected. The palm fronds are swirling. Change of plans: a beach walk. By mid-morning, the wind has calmed and it's time for an ocean swim.
I try to convince Tony to swim. "It's never been this warm." This is true, and with a wetsuit it's like swimming in our pool. "You have to take advantage of this rare warm water. You'll never regret swimming in the ocean."
For three days we are without an agenda, and so the agenda is determined solely by weather, the temperature of the water. This flexibility is a blessing though as fleeting as a shift in wind.
In just a few days' time we will be at the mercy of other forces: jobs, commitments, duties.
The waves are babies. There is no struggle to get past the citadel surf. Less than ten minutes from wet-suit to water, I'm standing on the sea--gliding. As I stand above, I look down and see strips of green and patterns in the sand. Where the sun has peeked through just a sliver of cloud, its rays reach through the water creating iridescent hexagons and a blue reflection in the shape of a sapphire. It's startling, this canvas; I don't ever remember the water so clear.
The next morning the palm fronds are slow dancing, the water not so placid; the waves have graduated to kindergarten. Time to drag out the kayak.
The fog will burn off by 1:00; we need to bike before the sun is too hot.
The next morning, I wonder if Hawaii's hurricane came farther north and east than expected. The palm fronds are swirling. Change of plans: a beach walk. By mid-morning, the wind has calmed and it's time for an ocean swim.
I try to convince Tony to swim. "It's never been this warm." This is true, and with a wetsuit it's like swimming in our pool. "You have to take advantage of this rare warm water. You'll never regret swimming in the ocean."
For three days we are without an agenda, and so the agenda is determined solely by weather, the temperature of the water. This flexibility is a blessing though as fleeting as a shift in wind.
In just a few days' time we will be at the mercy of other forces: jobs, commitments, duties.
Comments