And as I looked up…
Since my neck was hurting I naturally raised my head and started to look up. Nothing but blue sky…but, wait…is that? Yes it is. GEESE!
Who doesn’t stop and look up when a flock of geese flies overhead? Well, I do, and I did. Imagine seeing them, like specks in the distance, all gathered in a line, uncertain if they will actually come your way…
geese in the distance
They start to scatter away from each other but, yes, they’re still heading in the same direction…
geese coming closer
And before you know it they’re straight over your head, stretching so far across your peripheral vision that you can really only focus on a few.
geese overhead
And then, they’re gone. Flying off to whatever resting place is on their route.
geese going away
And you are left wondering what it would be like to be a goose who lives by the ocean and spends its time pecking around in the marshes and tending to chicks in the sand dunes. Well, at least that’s what I wondered, just for a minute. Then I let my attention float back to the sandy earth beneath my feet.
Now, that was truly a moment of simplicity.
And time stood still…
tide coming in? or going out?
So, we got back from our dog walk/canal visit, and decided to continue on down to the beach. It soon became apparant that I was the only one who wanted to walk, so Sam took the dogs back inside and bid me farewell and have a nice walk. Good thing because this was the 30 minutes when time stood still for me that day.
I soaked in the water both visually and energetically. I was especially impressed with the bubbles and foam that rolled in and out.
Seafoam
foam and bubbles
There were surfers and fishermen and other dog walkers. But I just wanted to look down. Here are a few things I saw:
not sure what this is…something to do with a shark?
similar shaped footprint and shell
dune buggy heading north
fish shaped cartilidge
runner’s footprints
crab house
shell and shadow
There was so much more. Sand fiddler holes with little piles of sand radiating out; seaweed, sticks, and even two crabs fighting over a hole. I looked down for so long that my neck started to hurt. I remembered when we lived in Northern CA and we would go agate hunting. The prize of even one crystal clear agate was worth the hour or so we stood, looking down and getting neck cramps.
It’s amazing how we can get lost in the moment, particularly when we’re not trying. And that’s the beauty of mindfulness. The harder you try, the less it works; the less you try, the better it works. Sort of like magic, or true love.
Across the street
Welcome!
If you have a dog, or dogs, you know what it means to get up at the crack of dawn. We haven’t needed an alarm clock for over two years now. On this mindful Tuesday last week, getting up with the dogs was a blessing. After spending a couple minutes appreciating the sunrise, we walked across the street to a vacant beach house and sat on the private dock.
This canal came as a surprise to me. I thought it was all about the beach, and here, right across the street is a whole community with a totally different vibe…A peaceful vibe I mean. What a dilemma it would be to choose between an ocean view and this view:
Beach? What Beach?
Either way, the water provides the magic.
I turned around and looked at the house and imagined myself living here, even for just a week or so. It would be roomy and airy and filled with potential. We could unhitch the canoe and float down the calm water toward the ocean, or we could just hang out on the hammock.
Or even take a shower outside…
Of course, reading and writing came to mind, and maybe a little yoga…but I’m wandering away from the present moment again. Let’s just say that particular present moment gave me a lot to dream about.
Being there
I guess I could say that I am working diligently on being present, for everything. Lately, “everything” hasn’t been something I really want to be fully present for, so spending time on the beach seemed like a golden opportunity to find some sort of balance. It worked. I’m still glowing…inside.
So, on this Tuesday morning, we took a minute or two to greet the sun. There was one fishing boat basking in the orange glow of the sunrise. Then I looked closer and saw the inevitable battle ship on the horizon. I like that it’s just a shadow and doesn’t really intrude on the magic of my personal space.
2 1/2 days at the beach, in slow motion
It’s becoming obvious. I need to be near the ocean. I thrive when my feet are in the sand and the sound of crashing waves dominates. I feel myself open up and let go. I want to soak it all in and hold the feeling somewhere inside forever. So that’s what I tried to do this past weekend. My next few posts will be a reminiscence of those couple days in an effort to cement that simple experience into my cells.
Let the day begin!
The sun rises early on the Atlantic on the first days of June. By 5 a.m. it looks like noon and the sun hasn’t yet made its appearance. There is nothing to block its light so it just brightens up the whole darned sky. I’m not complaining. It’s just different than waking up in the woods.
Take a moment and imagine it for yourself. Slowly, gracefully, confidently, a soft ball of light emerges…
Standing on water
Saw this guy when I was out for an early morning walk at Sandbridge last weekend. He seems like he is one with the water. So peaceful. So dignified. Dare I say, so simple?
Rebuilding the ant hill after the rain.
Today’s image of simplicity.
There are anthills all over this campground. You’d be hard pressed to find a square foot of ground without one. This day I happened to be looking down and saw this anthill, all wet and fresh with two or three ants busily stacking pieces of dirt up, one after another, until it resembled a tiny football stadium. You had to be there. I guess I was…there, that is.
Shells on a shelf.
Today’s image of simplicity.
I found these pieces on Sandbridge Beach during my two night getaway earlier this month. Broken parts of shells that once were perfectly formed treasures of the sea–solid homes for squishy little creatures, suddenly cast aside in the interest of more space. Then they floated, and floated and rushed up onto the sand only to be sucked back out into the ocean, maybe for months or years. Over time they cracked and splintered and fell apart, losing themselves in the madness of currents and weather change.
They spoke to me. Asked me to save them. So, I put them in my pocket and brought them home with me. I still hear their whispers. Somehow these pieces tell a much more endearing story than the stories of the fresh young unbroken ones.
Today’s images of simplicity
After being here for over a month, we decided it was time to take a walk around Colonial Williamsburg…on the first really hot day of the year. We had been waiting for the humidity to come. This day it did. Just enough to bring on some serious sweat.
But still, there was so much to see. I swear, sometimes I think I could just sit on a porch all day watching people and looking at birds and flowers and admiring old buildings. Good thing that’s an option for a while. Next time though, I’ll bring more water!
Natural Trellis
Tomatoes in rose branch cages.
Baskets on a fence.
Pondering…the past?
Pondering…the future?
Horse in a field taking a break.
Simply stunning Foxgloves
.
After the sunrise
Today’s moment of simplicity.
Three weeks ago we stayed a couple days at my aunt and uncle’s house on the beach. We went to help them out with moving, but the reward was so worth it. Two days looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. A real horizon. Nothing obstructing the view. I felt nourished and satisfied when we left. Today, the ocean is calling again.
on the road to simplicity 