We went for our final run this morning, five breezy miles - I went to all our favorite places on the Boardwalk, including Clinton Memorial Chapel. A west wind was blowing and the Sound was choppy with white-caps, but nothing like the other day when water was cascading upward all around me.
There is a widely-dispersed colony of black cats out here - I have seen them five miles from here, so I know it's not the same cat - and this little fellow showed up the other day a minute or two after I opened a can of tuna. I have learned from experience that an open can of tuna for a cat is like that proverbial drop of blood in the ocean for a shark.
She flitted across the handrail on the outside of the screen, connecting one open deck to another. And then she stood at the corner looking in. She's been here regularly at lunch and dinner when the seafood appears, and feeding her that piece of scallop the other night probably only encouraged her.
We like cats and will miss this little one. She may miss us even more, although her sleek coat indicates regular feeding.
Departure is always a little bittersweet - we love staying here, but it will be four weeks tomorrow since we left Highlands on this long journey and we are ready to be home again. I will miss these beautiful sunrises, which we do not get to witness living deep down in Clear Creek Valley among many mountains. This one earlier in the week was extraordinary. I had gotten down to the beach early and was waiting for it to make an appearance, and it seemed as if clouds had gathered on the horizon on either side, purple-tinted and standing at attention, like courtiers waiting along with me expectantly for the royal appearance.
Finally the glory of simple daylight appeared, unerringly on time as always: the beginning of a brand new day.
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