After a hectic day of last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve, I decided to take a detour home and stop at the beach for a few moments of refuge. My late father always loved the seashore and being there always gives me a sense of his presence. It is therapeutic in so many ways and I am fortunate to live in a town that is a stone’s throw from the water. As I drove down the local road in route I noticed the sky was gray and lifeless though I did not have viewing a sunset in mind on this particular evening. But rounding the corner as I approached the shore, I gazed in disbelief at a setting sun which suddenly appeared to illuminate the clouds in purple, pink and orange hues. I jumped out of my car, ran through the sand as close to the water’s edge as I could stand and snapped this photo. The clouds were a color I have never witnessed before and the beach was deserted sans one man donning a Santa hat, who stood beside me equally mesmerized. Onworldly is a word that comes to mind. There was also something so absolutely invigorating about standing on the beach at that moment in time on Christmas Eve as the frigid wind whipped and the carefree seagulls soared, witnessing this magical sky. I believe my father’s spirit right there with me. Happy New Year to all!
All for one and one for all
My brother and my friend
What fun we have
The time we share
Brothers ’til the end.
“The first lights of the evening were springing into pale existence. The Ferris wheel, pricked out now in lights, revolved leisurely through the dusk; a few empty cars of the roller coaster rattled overhead.” F. Scott Fitgerald
“Up high, the flies are playing,
And frolicking, and swaying.
The frog thinks: Dance! I know
You’ll end up here below.”
Wilhelm Busch- (1832-1908)
A tribute to my friend Joe whose memory I keep always. Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all.
I am not superstitious by nature, but this lovely, simple symbol of my Irish heritage is never far from my side. In fact, I keep it tucked in a small zippered compartment of my purse. Made from Connemara marble, the Irish Worry Stone so smooth and cool to the touch, is reputed to keep worries at bay and bring a sense of comfort to those who hold it. My mother loved these worry stones and often brought them back to friends as souvenirs when she visited her homeland of Ireland. My close friend Joe, who was diagnosed with Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma at 32 years of age was the recipient of one of my mother’s worry stones. When he died, I visited his apartment where his mother was staying temporarily. As we comforted each other with memories of her youngest son, she asked if she could show me something. Entering his bedroom she gestured toward his night table. On the corner closest to his bed, lay the worry stone. I like to think that it brought him comfort.
“The soul that sees beauty, may sometimes walk alone.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“I walked beside the evening sea and dreamed a dream that could not be; the waves that plunged along the shore said only: “Dreamer, dream no more!”
George William Curtis
Well, not quite the sea but an image of the Long Island sound at dusk had to do for this week’s challenge. There is something about the shoreline that has always instilled in me, a certain tranquility. This recent photo reflected that sort of ambience I always feel when near a body of water.
I spotted this abandoned boat yesterday morning, moored on a small creek in Westport, CT. A name displayed on the bow was carefully written in simple block letters…GLORIA. Captivating in its stillness with not a soul in sight, it instilled a feeling of both peace and melancholy. Returning home I researched to discover the boat was owned by a gentleman who lived his entire life in Westport and worked as an oyster fisherman aboard the vessel. The boat was both his work and home, when weather permitted. “Gloria” was the name of an old girlfriend who clearly left a mark on his heart. He passed away recently yet the barge remains, a testament to earlier days and a time long gone. This past Christmas, an unknown angel strung festive lights on the boat in memory of the late fisherman. It must have been a beautiful sight. I wonder if Gloria ever knew she was his muse?
The resilient daffodil
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty…
William Shakespeare, “The Winter’s Tale”
Daffodils in the snow, Weston CT April 3, 2016