Perefction

The broken shells, especially these which, I think [I know my profound ignorance about sea creatures] are whelks, always fascinate me with their beautiful spiral structure and the pink-coral-orange interiors. I can't resist picking them up and walking down the beach with the beautiful ones in my hands. Only at the last minute do I come to my senses and remember I have lined my books shelves with them already and as they got drier over the winter they rained small puddles of sand around themselves. So I leave the latest find on a post beside the beach path for those who are more rushed to find and perhaps wonder at, if only briefly. [I do not have great confidence in my fellow humans, most are so distracted by things they find more important than tiny bit of perfection.]
The season is winding down and we are all aware of it. Soon the tourists will mostly have gone home and the small parking lot near my favorite beach will have space for me to park in the middle of the day; I can take a chair, a granola bar and a bottle of water along with my book and read in peace for a while. The weather will remain beautiful through most of September, barring nasty wind and rain from hurricanes roaring up the Atlantic coast.
All people in the higher number decades talk about time flying faster for us. Strange how that happens as many of us, I speak for myself mainly, actually have more time for enjoying, fewer commitments, less hustle and bustle. Yet the time flies. Is ice cream more wonderful because you can't dawdle too much while eating it because it will melt? Does anyone think about that except a septuagenarian? Or does everyone else take the ice cream for granted -- there'll always be another summer? Well, not ALWAYS ... as Hamlet says, "ah, there's the rub."

Seasonal Turn

Early in the morning yesterday, the air was cool and very still. I saw no one for the first 40 minutes of my walk and took this photo of a grand house reflected in the water beyond the sea grass. I strolled along thinking of various time I have been alone walking in a forest or field or even a trail in the high Himalaya, sometimes truly alone, sometimes just by myself although others were not far away. It's best by myself.

The moon is full, we are having sunsets with progressive shades of pink spread in ombre fashion across the sky. The air turns cool when the sun begins to sink. I've pulled out he duvet for my bed and the fuzzy slippers for the morning when the kitchen floor is chilly. Summer is slipping away. Yes, we'll probably have more warm days, but I don't think the nights will be warm again. I washed the summer quilt and put on the newly made winter, or autumn one, a batik in deep, rich colors.

Autumn is a wonderful season whether we are being purely climatic or metaphorical. It's hard for younger people to imagine because summer is so impoetant to most of them but autumn may be the best season of all. WEaring scant clothing and sitting on a beach, or in a backyard, exposed to the warmth of the sun is wonderful, but sweater weather is very wonderful too -- not to hot, not too cold, just right -- like Goldilocks in the three bear's house. When I walk on the beach now I can walk on cool sand or let the even cooler water at the tide's edge lap my feet. If it's soon too cool for that, I can wear sneakers and let the cool breeze blow in my face. Both are good.