Sweet Dreams


Connie Mooreflorida sunrise with tree

It was an easy choice. White snow or white sand. Cold blue air or warm blue waters. Warm thoughts or cold thoughts. It was so easy.

Drifting off to sleep as water lapped against the sand, an oh-so-gentle swish of scrub oaks as breezes off the ocean moved silently past the cabin, we had landed in our dream with sandals, tee shirts and shorts.

First hours of light the next day found us on the beach. Sea shelling was a given. Coffee mug in one hand and shells in the other, we had to make a conscious effort to pace ourselves. Giddy with an unknown energy, we breathed in the salty cool morning air. Bird sounds could be heard muffled by the surf.

shore bird

Shore birds fed to the west of us. Chicks were no longer short-legged babes. Flocks included teenagers and parents, both age groups happy for winter’s freedom to roam. Over the golden sunrise a great blue heron glided by on his way to the shallows across the bay. Scrub oak and magnolias could be seen, twisted by salty winds, filling in wherever roots could keep hold of something deep below. Gnarly, a rough and tumble word, came to mind. Our days were gnarly back home, but here, smoothed out and softened, nerves were no longer frayed.

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