Summer sneaking in...

It is 9:34 in the morning, but the cottage is already up to 75 degrees. Sleeping last night was a joy, tucked under two blankets and a quilt. But as the sun rose, so did the temperature, and I found myself sloughing off each layer through the morning until it was finally no longer comfortable to stay in bed. Little Gia's tail was wagging enthusiastically as I pulled on my robe and shuffled out to the kitchen to start the coffee. Somewhere down the lagoon, someone was already running their powerwasher.

Ah yes... summer is coming.

Memorial Day weekend is mere days away, but I haven't yet uncovered my pool (I'm later than usual) and I'm only barely done setting seeds into pots and planting the tomatoes. What I've done so far is looking good, save for that yellow grape tomato that doesn't seem to be taking happily to it's pot. I keep meaning to look up his symptoms online, but when I get to my laptop, a dozen emails and other distractions shift my focus long enough for me to forget why I came altogether.

Last night as the sun sank over the homes across the street, I rallied, leashed up G, and took a lovely walk down to East Green Street Park. I called Cary before I left, hoping we could initiate this year's walking routine, but she was busy making dinner. Then I tried putting G into the bike basket on the bike that Frank just fixed. Alas, I pulled a muscle when the bike began to tip and my leg contorted into a new direction. I almost cancelled the walk (it takes so little for me to NOT exercise) but Gia was just too excited about getting out. So I hobbled to the end of the driveway. Already the muscle pain was easing and moments later, totally gone.

There are more homes for sale on the street, though nothing looks desperately unkempt. Well, some yards do, but those homes are not for sale and those yards always look that way. Things are just lazier down here for some of us, that's all. Personally I don't mean to look like a slob, apparently it's just my most natural state.

When I reached the corner and made the left I could see a man walking far down the road. My vision wasn't clear enough to know if he was coming at me or walking away, but I crossed the street just the same, not wanting to strike up chit-chat with any strangers. Having done so, I was curious at my reaction. Really, I am always friendly and up for a chat, so why was I so quick to avoid it tonight? I think it was the fact that he was a man and... I'm sick and tired of the entire gender. I'm fed up with their wishy washy way of romancing. I don't need another bouquet of flowers, I need a steady-eddy who can be relied upon to call when he says he will. It wouldn't hurt if he could also clean gutters, but he should know how to spell and should not email me like it's a text message. Doesn't anyone use capitals and punctuation anymore? And please, please, please, wash your clothing before coming out on our date. Jeepers! It's bad enough that you will spill food on your shirt as you eat but can't you at least start with a clean one?

I digress...

Considering my state of mind, it is a surprise that I wasn't horrified and appalled at the orgy that was occurring on the beach as I walked by. There were dozens of them humping each other like this might be the last time they ever had sex. The horseshoe crabs (What were YOU thinking?) had come into the shore where the waves from the bay are tiny and lapping - more like the waves on a lake really. They had lined up in clusters, toes in the water but shells above, and were climbing onto each other's backs with surprising grace. In some groups there were five or six crabs stacked onto one another, looking like a conga line as they did their best to "do" the best crab there. The sight was incredibly touching, considering the fact it was an orgy. I walked off the road and down to the water line fifteen feet away, so I could see how many more were coming ashore from the deeper water. I hadn't expected the horseshoes to be able to see me. Do they have eyes? They must have some way of seeing, because they moved away from me and into the deeper water as Gia and I approached. Feeling like a trespasser (a voyeur even), I went back up to the street. It would have to be close enough to see most of what was happening.

Looking past the activity at the shoreline, the reflection on the bay water came into focus. I could see glints of pink in the mostly brilliant blue flashes and my eyes were drawn instinctively skyward. It wasn't a robin's egg blue, or azure, but a crisp linen blue, deeper and richer than baby, but close to that somehow. The blue itself was intoxicating and my chest heaved with a heavy sign that comes naturally in moments of awe. The clouds along the horizon were layered in strips, each one a different iridescent pink. The dots of cloud above me where catching the pink light too, as was the jet trail skimming across the sky heading off to the east and perhaps JFK or even Europe. I felt my head tilt as my eyes examined the light on the homes near the bay and their reflections on the water. My mind was not in control, it was my eyes doing all the thinking, and they showed me so many details that the car passing behind me would never know. Stopping to look, that's the first step. I'm blessed in that, I think. I manage to take the time to see.

I dearly love walking at this time of night - when the sun is setting the sky can be so magical. Some nights last summer I would take this walk and come home disappointed that nothing had happened at all. But most nights I would stand watching, enraptured, by the shifting and morphing colors across the sky. Each second of sunset was different from the next. The sun keeps moving, the angles keep changing, the light keeps shifting and the colors gloriously evolve. It is natural kaleidoscope and you watch it knowing that no matter how many more times you look, you will never ever see that exact same view again.

G and I moved along up the street toward the park, knowing that dawdling would result in it being dark enough for the bugs to emerge and then the last 500 feet of our walk home would be torturous. Even so, when I spotted three mallards farther out in the section of reeds and grass, I stopped to listen and enjoy their murmured guttural chat. You have to love a mallard's tone.

By then the man who I'd seen earlier had already reached the park on his walk and was heading back down the street. Much like I'm prone to do, he had changed sides of the road for his return walk, so now we were only 20 feet apart: nearly face-to-face. I turned my eyes from the mallards to smile politely at him. He had a terrible scowl on his face that turned to a softer look as he said "Good evening" and walked on by. Maybe he'd had a similar conversation with himself earlier in the day?

"Women, you can keep them all. Who needs them! They can all go to bloody hell."

Up in the park, G and I walked the perimeter, passing the fishermen and a woman studying for her legal transcriptionist exam. She petted G and went back to studying as her beau removed the hook from the back of his shorts. I was glad I was not facing them when I heard his "Ow, ow, Holy crap, OW!", because I couldn't contain my chuckling.

We rounded the park and made our way home, moving more swiftly in order to improve the quality of the exercise we were getting. Pat called me on my cell and she and I chatted as I walked. She seemed surprised that I would be mildly breathless, but that is the pace they tell us to set for ourselves if we expect to get any real benefits from the walking. Besides, I was practically dragging Gia, her short dachshund legs not wanting to keep up, and that was adding substantial exertion on my part. I imagine we are a pretty funny sight, if anyone would bother to notice.

Once home I checked the times for the Genesis satellite's passage, as well as the new spy plane and the ISS. It was a beautiful night but already chilling down, and I pulled on a sweatshirt so I could sit on the deck and wait to see the free show. Two geese were disturbed by my sudden presence and they ran up the lagoon until their wings could lift them off the water, honking loudly as they flew, scolding me for the interruption. In the dim light I heard a kerplunk and could just make out the ripples where a fish had leaped to snag a bug from the surface of the lagoon.

Ahhh... peace... solitude.

This morning my coffee is warming me into a sweat. There is white heron (or is it an egret) walking along the marshy peninsula that shields my lagoon from the direct bay waves. She is joined by another, a mate perhaps, and they fish with their pointy beaks until a boat moves past them and they take flight to quieter hunting grounds.

I will drive north to Middletown later today, only to return on Thursday afternoon. This place is good for me but there are things to do in Middletown that cannot wait. In the space of time it took me to write this piece, the cottage has warmed to 81 degrees. It's time to open more windows and let the bay breeze through, and then close up my laptop so I can enjoy the last few hours in this simple paradise before my drive.



Writer's Note: I found an article that explains the horseshoe crab phenomena I witnessed last night. Apparently I was a very lucky gal to see all that! http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=106489695

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