I’m looking at the ocean, gray and hints of dark green tumbling up and over when the waves crash, white foam fizzling out like matches on the watersmooth sand.
The water becomes paler gray toward the horizon and the sky that meets it is a lighter airier gray yet, with faint silverblue splotches that hint at future brilliance.
Now the sky is lightening FAST – second by second it becomes brighter, like watching a high-speed film of a flower unfolding.
It’s not dawn. It’s 9am, and drizzly. A few plump 50′s ladies are wading around in the pool below me, one of them in the hot tub, a pensive expression. Amado and Isabel are asleep inside the hotel room while I write on the balcony, a cup of room-brewed coffee beside me, my bare feet cold. The air is so clean that it might wash my lungs with its wet, wild moisture.
Two attractive young people walk together on the sand, confer briefly, then jog together, her brown muscular legs set off by tight white shorts, his easy gait holding a coiled power. They make running on the packed sand look so easy, and I follow them with my gaze as they get smaller and smaller, converging to the boardwalk far in the distance.
Lines of seabirds soar horizontally across the ocean, following the waves’ rise and fall, flapping in unison, gliding in unison. I think they are brown pelicans. They move so well together as a unit that they seem like rehearsed dancers; I never tire of watching them fly.
Now Isabel’s small smiling face — she’s tugging at the sliding glass balcony door. I jump up to open and she bursts out, all smiles and tossing hair, hopping with excitement. “Mama! Hahaha! I want to write out here, too!”
We get her small notebook and pink pen; I pull the 2nd chair close to mine – touching – so we can both see. She snuggles her head into my shoulder and I hug her, both smiling, happy. The ocean is roaring.