A small lake, the shoreline covered in brush, in my view from the balcony. The water is glass-still this morning, but the air is filled with sound.  The only call I recognize is a red-winged blackbird.  The rest is a cacophony of chirps, honks and songs.  Some of the birds I recognize: egrets, herons, cormorants.  And a very, very large woodpecker just flew by and landed near me on a pine tree (from my quick glance, I think it’s a Dryocopus pileatus.)

It’s going to be a hot day.  Hell, it’s already a hot day.  Some of the cormorants are drying their wings on the shore.  I’m guessing they can’t read the sign: “Warning, don’t feed the alligators.” For the birds, it’s a capital offense.

There’s a small boat that leaves here several times per day, weaving through islands hardly bigger than a dinner table, followed by dolphins, and stopping on a small barrier island.  If I remember correctly, the beach is covered in shells, each more beautiful than the last.  The sand stretches for a mile or two, unbroken except for a small building with bathrooms.

I’m going to get on that boat today.  I’m going to watch my daughter’s face as the dolphins leap by.  I’m going to hold my wife’s hand and walk in the surf.  I’m going to photograph this day, my senses the only camera.  I’ll impress it in my memory, like a fall leaf in a book, and on difficult days, I’ll open the book, smell it, hold it gently, and remember the sweetness of living.



  1. saffronrose

     /  March 1, 2012

    Good! You’re setting up something to refresh and refill your spirit’s cup when needed. There are enough physicians who do not understand the need to walk away from the office to recharge and to rest or bask in the beauty of leisure and the world outside the office/hospital.

  2. Have a good one.

  3. Beautifully put. I do the same, but human frailty requires that I have the memory backed up with a camera, or write down the experiences in a notebook. I know too well how even the most precious memory fades as I age.

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