The morning was about average as mornings go on the Carolina coast. Skies were blue and clouds were something that you've heard from me hundreds of times. But driving down Grandiflora, there was no indication of just how big the day was going to be.
Apparently, an offshore ocean breeze, the one I call Queenie, had taken her eye off her youngsters for just a moment--that's all it takes--and a couple of juveniles were now running around Waterford teasing the residents with thoughts of tropical climes.
It was a morning that promised a modicum of tranquility and dreamy something-or-other. Then I turned left off Grandiflora and onto Waterford Way. As Wynd Horse veered to the east, Bam! Pow! Blinded by the light!
There he was, just above the trees, at just about the right spot for a window, if the sky had windows. The young sun was hot-dogging in the Carolina blue sky. Shamelessly brilliant is the way I'd describe it.
The whole spectacle reminded me of that line from the King James edition where God told Moses to look away when he passed by because mere mortals are incapable of absorbing his full glory--not even a reasonable facsimile.
I had to shield my eyes and look to the shoulder of the road as I drove to Brunswick Forest and when I passed the welcome sign, I saw that the mockingbird, instead of singing the usual welcoming song, was taking refuge in the shade instead.
I'm certain the spectacle was intended to impress his mother. I mean the sun's mother. I'm speaking of the sun's mother, of course, not the bird's. It's a common character flaw among young suns or so I'm told. And I'm sure that all this unbounded glory made the sea very proud indeed because it was she who gave birth to this monarch of the heavens.
I know it's hard to believe unless you have witnessed the sun rising from the sea, that water could give birth to fire but that's only a fraction of the weirdness of quantum reality.
"Just look at my boy," I imagined the sea to her sister, Queenie, the wind. "He's so strong."
"Yes, he's something alright," said the wind, "but he's not so strong as I."
"What do you mean!" demanded the sea, "He's stronger than you by a long shot."
Again, this is the conversation that I'm sure they must have engaged in that morning. I offer only the basics of their remarks; I can't do the dialect.
"Want to bet?" said the wind, and just like that, they were off on that old argument again.
It was enough to make me consider going back to bed but it was an idle thought and quickly passed for there is much to be done and I am the only one with the perfect combination and experience and a randomly ordered limbic system to make it happen.
Gazing once more to the east, the skies were blue as blue and the towering white clouds were gold-tinted by the alluring golden light. I stared into that seemingly perfect place and contemplated the impossible distance. My heart began to steam with the desire to be there.
I know this may all sound questionable to you but it's something I often do; homesick for the first world probably.
And so, life being what it is, I paid my respects to the morning, made a short visit to my rock, thanked the mockingbird for her appearance, and then rolled up my sleeves and got busy following the dictum of someone-or-other from my childhood: So let it be written, so let it be done.