Earl, a category 3 storm, is approaching, but today is more perfect than ever. When we first moved here 3 years ago, I ROUTINELY walked the beach in the mornings before Jerry woke up. It was my time alone. My worship time. My get my head together time. My appreciation for the beauty of this earth time. As “life on the island” has gotten busier and Jerry has declined, my free time has become precious. I’ve felt that I needed to be very selective and very efficient with each time slot. Especially since Jerry doesn’t sleep as long anymore. So, my morning time had begun to be sort of rushed. I’d bike with Montana so she’d get more exercise in a shorter time, I’d quickly read emails, write blog stuff, pull a weed or two, water plants, maybe even brush a paint stroke, all before 8:00. My own exercise has gone kaput!
So, today, I’m back to the original routine. No more cramming. As the sun rose, Montana and I rode the bike out to the beach. Unbelievable beauty. There were only a couple of walkers far away, so it was pretty much a beach all to ourselves. I use to find shells galore, but always seemed to be on the search for that perfect conch shell. Most of the shells I’d find were tiny and assorted, but great for filling my pockets. I’ve gleaned many spiritual lessons from them. One day I came upon pristine perfect clam shells that looked like they had been magically placed there by our Devine creator. There were dozens and dozens of them stretching for, what seemed about 500 feet. The next day, I saw nothing but broken and twisted discolored shells in the same spot. Of course I had to come home and write about the broken shells and God’s restoration of our souls. These walks were over a year ago.
This morning, as I reigned myself back in from my self imposed chaos, and while Montana was chasing the sand pipers, I seemed to be purged of all the worries of alzheimers. I was fully immersed in the systematic roll of the waves against the clear blue horizon. I saw about a mile long ribbon of white sand stretched to its perfect point. Then, as I began to approach that same spot from a few years ago, I saw silhouettes of large humps on the sand. The closer I got, the more curious I became. Then, I saw them! Conch shells were strone out along the shore line. Large ones, small ones, white ones, black ones. It was as if, a wave had scooped them up from the ocean floor and gently laid them out before me.
Look what I’ve missed in my chaos. Now, let me prepare for this upcoming storm as routinely as possible.