Reflections from our former home, New England:
There’s a way of the world here in New England that is unique to the coastal people who have made it their home. As the tide rises and falls, the residents of our little sea-bound town are drawn to the ocean shoreline. In the wee hours of the morning the Boulevard (or, the “Boulehvahd” to locals: the walk that lines the shore) is speckled with quiet onlookers. There are the elderly who likely arrived long before I did, sititng on the same bench they always do, watching the dogs play on the surf below. There are businessmen on their morning commute who pull over and silently sip their coffee with eyes fixated on the emerging sun. There are runners and dog walkers who have come for the convenience of route, but who also cannot help but slow the pace when the first burst of full-morning glory hits the ocean sky.
Very soon, all parties will be a rush of New England chaos. In just a matter of minutes, their world will be hurried, a blaze of traffic and to-dos. The sun will break through the clouds, flood the beaches and boulevard with light, and the day will suddenly become ordinary. The mystique of the early morning ocean will be lost to the horns and harbors.
But not now. For now, for these next few minutes, the steady sway of the watery waves will mesmerize her audience. In the lingering stillness battling crabs will be noticed, and the way the sky opens to the day will be welcomed with resonating delight. The salty spray, the sea-scented breeze are not inconvenient now, but invite each person to sink into nature and join in the restless hum.