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Seriously? You’re going to write about the crashing waves?

Yes! Can you think of anything more exquisite?

Seriously? Look at the golden mustard and pink phlox rising up against the silver of the sea. That’s much more interesting.

No…not now, I’m watching the curling white ripples that the waves create as they make their way to shore…then disappear. They are remade, becoming. Part of the whole. Their existence but a flash before they are one with a Body beyond comprehension…

I carried the beauty of the water’s movement and changing colors under the dusk sky with me to bed and slept soundly.

I wake brightly to the song of the cicadas in the woods. The birch leaves out the bedroom window are still. Then one begins to dangle, the rest follow suit until the branches are filled with little hands waving good morning as they reflect the morning sun.

I want to take my seat on the deck but my old dog Mr. Sam is still asleep at the foot of the bed. I will wait for him and watch the trees. Soon enough I’ll be at the water for one more day of Island solitude.

I notice the intersecting lines of the slanting, sloping ceiling–an architect’s touch–a unique approach to walls, ceiling, and floor all coming together beneath a skylight. They become one.

Twice reminded that I too am connecting to and with my surroundings, a part of something much Greater than I can hope for or imagine.

Sam sleeps on, content for one more day. I watch his chest rise and fall; like a wave.

The leaves are still. Then one begins to dangle, the rest follow suit until the branches are filled with little hands waving good morning as they reflect the morning sun.

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