Visitors to the island sometimes ask me if I grow weary of the seascape which surrounds me, if perhaps it begins to pall with familiarity. My answer is always the same, “Never!” Each day’s sunrise, each morning’s cloud bank over the horizon, each afternoon’s heat or rain or chill, each evening sun’s race to departure or quiet sinking into the water, each night’s star-drenched sky or fog filled darkness brings its own quiet joy and beauty. My eyes are never sated, my ears never blocked to the sights and sounds of the island. Like a dear companion with its own moods and personality, the island is a gift of variety and discovery. Thank you, God, for giving me so much beauty. Help me always to appreciate your generosity in each day’s discoveries. Amen.
During this afternoon’s beach walk, I noticed footprints that attempted to crush each intact shell in their path. Remnants of shattered shells lay in the pattern this person had left
The Italians call it “Voce del Mare” or the Voice of the Sea. I suppose everyone who comes to an island listens to the voice of the sea, recognizes the
I’m still combing through piles of catalogs, looking for gifts for friends and family, many of whom live out of state. I stop at each page and wonder if I