Monday July 30th, (part the second)

We have stepped today from chronological time to that suspended place that is vacation time. Suspended, unconnected to life that has preceded or will succeed; vacation time is a short story, beginning and ending, existing only in a few short pages. Another story may follow, but it is not a sequel and so yesterday and tomorrow have no bearing on today. Their only link is that each day happens between the covers of the book that is vacation.

The events that comprise this day happen in no specific order. The events occur and we take each one as the NOW that it is. Clouds drift. The bright sun is covered, the breeze freshens and blows the offending grey shape aside. The umbrella heads of the Queen Anne’s lace bend to the same wind that chased the clouds. The slender stems of the grasses ripple with it. The growl of a mower from a yard father down the bay interrupts the birds chatting on the beach.

The head of the sun-hatted child bobs amongst the flowers and grasses on the path to the next house. The grass is so tall, or she is so small, they hide the fact that the hat is her only attire.

The beach continues to grow, the waters recede as the tide waits for no man nor animal and pulls from the shore. Sandbars increase, stretching red fingers ever closer to each other. Gulls skim and squawk over the newly opened land. The small animals left stranded present a feast, plenty for all and yet they must scold and scream as if there was only a little.

The children squeal over discovered treasures: a large crab, a colored shell, a hole that fills, a sand dollar. They begin to dig a habitat for the captive crabs they have collected. The water boy rebels quickly disenchanted with carrying water endlessly to keep the habitat viable.

A bike ride around the circle street of the beach homes affords a close look at the varying styles and views. The tires bump over the unpaved road and my clothing seems to modern.

A butterfly flutters importantly among the tall flowers and grasses as if trying to convince me it has a place to land, vital work to accomplish. It does not deceive me, it is only aimlessly enjoying what is NOW! Events are unconnected, small things that at the moment are more important than a book, or work, or tomorrow. The wind blows and I am ready to join the butterfly, flitting from one delightful event to the next as if there was a reason and purpose when I know there is not. Just NOW, simply today- it is vacation.