“Yesterday, it was like fire on glass,” said Mary Etta of the sunrise I missed. We joked that I was frequently heading to bed just about the time she was getting up.
This early morning there is no sun to see. Dark, gray-blue clouds hover near the horizon. The surf is churning almost under the cabin, foamy whitecaps swirling in all directions. A strong, gusty breeze has set the wind chimes in chaotic and clamorous motion, and the palm trees are rustling and clapping in response. I’m sitting wrapped in a blanket. A fire spits sparks in the fireplace, and the smell of corn-and-apple fritters wafts in my direction. It is a smorgasbord for the senses, and I can’t remember when I ever felt so peaceful.
“It was a week,” I say to myself, lamenting that in a couple of hours my four friends and I will be headed off of Hunting Island, South Carolina, and back home. It was the first of what would become an annual celebration of friendship. The dolphins had danced for us. Pelicans had swooped into the lagoon across the way, while raccoons were up to mischief in the driveway. Continue reading