"Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo?
It'll be spring soon.
And the orchards will be in blossom.
And the birds will be nesting in the hazel
thicket.
And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields...
and
eating the first of the strawberries with cream.
Do you remember the taste of
strawberries?"
A reminder from Samwise Gamgee on this First Day of . . . brrrr. . .Spring!
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If you find sea turtles charming, might i suggest: God's Sweet Command and The Best Sea Shell Shop Ever.
Monday Morning Counting the Grace Gifts
#0821 - snow capped daffodils
#0822 - bay window, corner of the sofa, a sunny morning
#0823 - thick, sweet perfume of the smallest, soft petaled gardenia blossom
#0824 - tiny dogs (little Toby) that jump so high
#0825 - daylight strong and pure after dinner; winter slipping away
#0826 - the promise that after the hard labor of spring cleaning. . .we will make our way to the sea. . .soon
Counting with the Community at. . .
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. . .to set the clock forward an hour?
Spring sunshine is pouring through the western window at Round Rock, and and the clock hands point to six thirty p.m.!
Welcome longer hours of sunlight! Welcome!
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Icy wind swept around store-front corners and sped on frosty hooves between the tall buildings, and i turned the collar up on the best woolen, winter coat i have ever owned and zipped the leather trim up to my chin. We left the winter woods for shopping in Short Pump, and blue and white fleeced skies made pretty promises the bitter Wind would not let her keep, and for all that, i thought me how i love February. My mother speaks of how dismal the month is and how large the obituary pages seem to be this short-lit time, but i don't feel that way. The bareness of the landscape is antiseptic, and winter winds run through my veins, and pepper my cheeks, and i waken to life.
And somewhere, wild horses run free along cold waves, flicking hooves and shimmying snow flecked manes as glass-fragile flakes whirl in a winter wind off the Atlantic.
And i am glad for the cold of February that will not be tamed.
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Quietly sits the autumn world, walls of stained glass, carpet of deepest Persian hues. i will drink it in today for as long as i can, sleepy eyes propped open. . .a storm is coming, Sandy the Frankenstorm they call her, and in the midst our preparation and the din of dire warnings, all i can think about is. . .these colors may not be here when storm is passed.
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"There's a Toad in the garage. And he's been swimming in Sam's waterbowl."
I looked into the garage and there he sat, his green velvet back turned toward me, watching me from the corner of one of his great, bulging eyes.
He was, as we should expect, indignant.
I remembered quite distinctly about his Toady sensibilities from Arnold Lobel's little books .
"I don't wear a bathing suit," said Frog.
"Well, I do," said Toad. "After I put on my bathing suit, you must not look at me until I get into the water."
"Why not?"asked Frog.
"Because I look funny in my bathing suit. That is why," said Toad.
Empathizing with Toad's plight, I quietly closed the door. We all have those toady days, don't we?
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~a rare cottage garden in our sea side neighborhood.
The gardens and woods of Round Rock are inland safe from salty air that burns tender plants and winds that flatten them, and we have traded hydrangea and gladiolas for bayberry and sea oats.
~Cedar shingles on the Discovery, a friend's home, reminiscent of Nags Heads Unpainted Aristocracy.
Welcome to Thoughtful's Friday Beach Almanac, an end of the week climate and meteoroligal record - just for the fun of it. Part of the charming elusiveness of life on a sandbar is the close link between life and nature. Shoes are traded in for bare feet, make up and foundation are discarded for sun kisses and SPF, and hair mousse and flat irons give it up for wind and sea spray volumnizer.
~the Bucket List down the street is for sale. . .if only. . . *sigh*
The weather changes from hour to hour or a mile down the road. We have spent a sunny day on the beach while watching the rain line deluge our southern neighbors in Kitty Hawk. Something about living this close to nature is healing. Allergies disappear, the Atlantic winds blow mosquitos back to the Sound, and climbing the dunes and the steep cottage steps multiple times a day makes the elliptical obsolete. And the air. . .oh, the air. . .you don't realize how clear or fresh it is until a winter inland is behind you. Finally, something elemental in the rhythm of the tides resets your inner clock, deepens your breathing, and slows your heart. i do not take any moment spent on the island lightly. i feel my Father's heartbeat and am more keenly alive to His wild and beautiful ways as i observe the life of beach fox, the island dear, the wild ponies, the sea gulls, dolphins and fish, and ghost crabs.
"Safe?. . .'course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, i tell you" ~C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
THE ALMANAC for FRIDAY, JUNE 15TH
The cottage sailed under a cap of blue skies all day.
temperature: a toasty 75o in the sun, but shiver me timbers in the shade
sunrise: way too early, but so very worth it (5:45 a.m.)
sunset: splendidly spilling over the Sound to back light the evening meal (8:21 p.m.)
moon: waning crescent, can only be seen from early morning to late afternoon; no moonlight on the deck tonight. . .but plenty of stars. Draco and the Little Bear over the ocean in the south.
low tide: Elevensies (11:01 a.m.)
high tide: Late Tea (5:40 p.m.)
~high tide suprises the photographer (me)
water temperature: pleasant on the feet and ankles (73o)
wind: NE, 17 mph with gusts up to 25 mph. The wind has demanded our attention for the past twenty-fourhours, toppling the lighter deck chairs and whipping light items from our hands. When her blustery performance left us unfazed, she rallied her performance and was rewarded with a No Swimming flags approval.
~red flags dotted the beach by mid-morning.
We enjoyed the blustery drama snug from the deck, but Visitors who see vacation time sliding like beach sand through the glass, braved the winds and set up umbrellas and towels - for a bit. Their children dug a little sand bunker in which to play.
~the children's abandoned sand bunker
By lunch time, they had given up and the dunes were empty.
What not to do on days like this: raise the flag (it would be tatters), hook up the hammock, put up an umbrella, cast a fishing line, or take your hair seriously.
What you can do: Sam asks me to go on a walk, and i oblige. Once over the dunes, we are only a few steps away from the foaming behemoth that licks hungrily at the sea grass. . .
~light shimmers on the sea grass that bends and twists in the wind
. . .the tide is coming in and the sea spray that has coated the cottage windows now spits softly at my skin.
The wind skims foam from the creamy surf that rolls like tumbleweed clouds in our path. Finding no sand crabs to harass, Sam barks at the blowing foam and i observe dozens of little rainbows trembling on glassy surfaces.
~a hovercraft of sea foam makes a shadow on the sand as it passes
With manly diligence, Sam chases pelicans from our air space then rolls in a victory dance of self congratualation.
~Sam leaves his own trail, not unlike a turtle
There you have it. . .what you can do on a day like this: walk, chase pelicans, roll in the sand, bark at sea foam. All lovely activities if you are a Westie.
Oh, and look at the stars. . .which is where we are headed right now.
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Miss Bennett: "Books— oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings." 
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. . ."
"Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. . . For you alone, I think and plan. "
"My beloved is mine and I am his." ~ Song of Solomon
