Sunday Morning

We realized when we came here this year that we would not be able to do all of the things that we have enjoyed in the past due to Covid-19 restrictions.  One of those things is attending the First United Methodist Church over in Morehead City, which Martha's aunt Lizette told us about when we first visited here.  They have a tradition of giving first-time visitors a small gift bag containing information about the church and a loaf of delicious sweet bread, which is a lovely welcome.  We were surprised the first time, but every year since then we have the feeling that Pastor Powell Osteen recognizes and remembers us and therefore we are ineligible for the bread again.  Like all Methodist preachers, he has a long memory.  The FUMC has begun actual worship services, I think, but at half capacity as the Methodist Church in Highlands is doing.  So I have been content to listen to Powell's excellent sermons via Facebook.

So this Sunday morning we stayed here at the condo, enjoying an omelet which I have been in the habit of preparing on Sunday mornings.  I went out before breakfast for my Tai Chi, and then again to drink my first cup of coffee.  Clouds were moving in, as predicted for today, but this only makes the sky more interesting to watch.  Tumultuous shapes gathered on the horizon to the south.

I knew that it was almost time for sunrise - it has been rising later and later every morning, 6:47 on Friday, 6:48 on Saturday, and 6:49 today according to my sunrise chart, and of course this will continue until winter solstice, when the night will be the longest and the day the shortest of the year.  This lovely time of morning is what my sunrise charts calls First Light, the time before sunrise when the sky begins to brighten.  In the east, I could see behind the clouds a golden light, diffused and radiating upward across the sky in rose-colored echoes - beautiful!

There was not much stirring on the beach.  It was low tide, and a woman was gathering shells in a white styrofoam cup.  A few children farther down the beach were squealing in the surf in what must have been very chilly water - all of the surfers I have seen have been wearing wetsuits.  A surf fisherman was standing with rod in hand. 

I like to eat fish, but I confess that I know nothing about fishing.  But seeing these men (and sometimes women) standing before the immensity of the ocean, watching the waves breaking one after one, watching the brown pelicans drift by, hoping perhaps to catch something for dinner (but not the main point):  that seems like an occupation that I could enjoy.

Just down the beach to the east stands a row of rainbow-hued houses that I have always enjoyed seeing, lined up side by side along the dunes, a placed called Sea Dreams.  

In fact, last year when we were staying here we chanced upon this picture in a local gallery, which reminded us of Sea Dreams, and we bought it and hung it in the condo in honor of Lizette.

There is always something to see on the beach, like this miraculous small plant named pennywort that seems to grow out of the sand itself rather than from anything that I would call soil.

On my way back to the walkway, I found another piece of the sand dollar that we are assembling, piece by piece, making something whole from all the broken pieces.  This is a good place for doing that.

In the afternoon, Martha went for a walk on the beach, and I sat on the dune-top deck for awhile, soaking up the sunshine.  Martha took this photo of a jellyfish that had just washed in and was not yet lying flat on the sand - a beautiful, delicate creature.

While I was sitting on the deck, I heard the deep booming sound of a freighter's horn blowing from the direction of the Morehead City Channel.  I had returned to the condo when Martha called me and told me to come out and see the huge freighter.  With my binoculars, I could read the name on the side:  SPLIETHOFF - a shipping company that has been around for a hundred years.

It occurs to me that any person casually surfing the internet who should come upon this blog might be saying to themselves, "This man must be bored to death, taking pictures of jellyfish and freighters, writing about the tides and the sunrise."  It's true:  I'm bored to death, and I am absolutely loving it.  Our only appointments tomorrow are those simple verities of living near the ocean:  sunrise, sunset, and the tides that rise and fall between them.  And, oh, yes - a  good book for this evening.