Bon Secour
It's early Spring, time for the season to begin. The season of being here, leaving late, staying longer, coming back without a care, without a doubt, without a question. It is time to open up the cabin of the season and memory, of family and friends and renewing the past to the present existence.
The tide is up, the river is moving in its perfect motion, the grasses are bowing to the wind, the gulls are soaring on the Bay and the Bay is a calling, an instrument of pull beyond control. The waters are coming in on the shore, and the muddy banks disappear for the moment.
I go back to Bon Secour to ponder, I pause and think, but never the less, I go, I go with the pull and the format of longing, the sun goes down, the thought progress only to be lost in the tide's ebb and flow, the thought aren't lost on the low tide, but on the in coming tide, and what it brings.
So many things lost in the tide's coming and going, but the remaining thing is the transition of time and the meaning of the things that are washed ashore. Some things stay in the low tide, some things wash back out, to find their place in the bobbing of wind and surf, waves.
It is the season of renewal, the calling of the coast, and all that it gives to the ones that know the secret to living there within the beauty of the coast.
So simple is the day, so secure is the moment in Bon Secour, so simple is the secret to living.