Return to Highlands

I had remembered to set the clocks ahead an hour, and we both awoke early on Sunday morning, in plenty of time for the sunrise.  I went out onto the dune-top deck one last time for my Tai Chi, and as I approached the upper platform I immediately began walking gingerly.  It was only 36 degrees, but there was a white glaze of ice on the surface.

I realized that, ironically, we had arrived here just over two months ago to decidedly balmy temperatures, up in the 60s.  I wouldn't have thought that it would be this cold in March.  I wisely backed off to the lower part of the walkway for my Tai Chi, but not before taking this photo of the rising sun.

Despite the time change - this ridiculous requirement each year that we set our clocks ahead one hour in order to "save daylight" somehow - we managed to get off early enough on Sunday morning to arrive in Raleigh by 2:30 p.m., plenty of time for a nice visit with Martha's Aunt Lizette.  It is always so good to see her!  We were able to arrive in Winston-Salem at the Historic Brookstown Inn before dark, where we were pleased to see an old buddy - Sally, the Hotel Cat, asleep on a chair in the lobby.

This morning we drove the rest of the way back, green grass fading as we drove westward, the trees bare.  It was still winter west of Asheville, and I remembered that one of our worst storms ever in Highlands, the Blizzard of 1993, took place on March 13.  We still may see a little bit of winter!  But not much sunshine, I am afraid.  The forecast for the upcoming week looks a little rainy.

But all was well when we returned to our house, except for a lot of branches that had blown down in the yard and some washing.  There will be a lot of work to do in the coming weeks.  But it was good to walk in the door of our own home again after so many weeks - safe port and quiet waters after our voyage across the long miles on the interstate.

As we lay our heads on our pillows, I realized how dark and quiet it was - we live in a quiet neighborhood, and there are no walkway lights out the window of our bedroom.  I listened intently, but without success, for the familiar sound of the ocean in the background - the wide Atlantic Ocean, out there in the moonlight, crashing loudly, or just murmuring quietly - to which we had become accustomed for a long time.