Strong wind in the night, although I slept quietly through it, and never heard the damage it caused to nearby forest trees. Once I am asleep, I seldom will stir, as I find some replenishing station where I slowly refuel for another day. And this day I got up early to take one of the cars into the local garage for an oil change and heart check. This getting out of bed at an early hour is tough on old bones. Mine want to lie undisturbed awhile longer, until the mind catches up and concurs that there is togetherness and meaning in greeting the day in this clumsy, unsociable hour.
Then back home from the garage for morning immersion in mindfulness, a 30-minute jog, and reading the daily passages that come to me from my Kindle. A passage titled “Longing” from Rilke’s “Book of Hours” impressed me:
“God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night”.
The wind is still blowing hard by mid-morning. A pressure front moves in from the north, stinging all bare skin. The ocean is likely to be frothing in white spray, a pretty sight, though uncomfortable to stand in for very long. I drive a few back roads to get to the water’s edge, and find the weather as I have expected. Much strong wind kicks up the loose white sand, and stands up the blue and green waves with a fierce stiffness.
I find a driftwood log that is easy to sit on and fold my eyes closed to listen for a session to the wind and the sea, while I turn my face to the bright sun and feel its warmth. The beach walkers gather sea glass in little plastic bags, as so much has washed ashore in these recent heavy storms. The tiny greens, browns, clears, and rare blues that have come from years of broken bottles dragging over a rocky bottom. I pick up one piece. Mine is aquamarine. I read a little longer from where I had left off earlier this morning. I was going to try to recall what I had dreamed of writing while last night when asleep, but the day’s wind had so much natural noise to it, and the passage that I was going to work over in my mind was more about the silence that comes to me when asleep.