William Southold | Opinion Columnist |The Southold Report
“Speaking fiction to power one story at a time.”
It took only three days to find a good home for Frank, our French poodle house guest, and as kind of a reward, and also to lift all our spirits, we decided to take a short visit to the shore, at Bethany Beach in Delaware. We found a small condo within walking distance of the beach, the greatest thing about it being it had a 2nd story balcony from which we could hear the calming sounds of surf meeting sand, and smell the cool ocean breezes.
“Do you mind if I sleep out here?” Middie asked me as we took in the scene.
“Sure. You can curl up on this patio chair if you would like.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“I could bring you a blanket,” I offered, “to keep you warm.”
“No thanks, brought my own,” she said as she stood tall and shook her whole body.
“All set then?”
“Couldn’t be better.” She hopped up on the chair. “Oh, and remember, we’re getting up early to catch the sunrise. Don’t want to miss that.”
“Right,” I said, but not as enthusiastically as I had wanted.
“You’ll thank me in the morning, it’s something you don’t want to miss.”
I slid open the slider door and bid her a good night.
Making good on my promise, well before sunrise but early enough to catch its promising light, we were walking along the shore, first ones out as far as I could see. I had hoped there would be no need for our masks here.
All of a sudden, my phone beeped in my pocket.
“Oh no, Southold. Tell me you didn’t,” Middie said. “Don’t pull it out.”
I reached in my pocket and extracted my phone.
“Don’t look at it - don’t look at it - don’t look at it,” she said to me in a rat-a-tat, staccato-like warning.
I taped my screen and it opened up, to a notice about Trump.
“Southold, there is no hope for you.”
“I have to, it’s my job. It’s about Trump.”
“It’s always about Trump. It will be about Trump when we get back on Monday. And every day after that until they carry him bodily from the White House. And even then, there’s no guarantee.”
She pause, and I thought she was finished, when she added, “We are headed for a Trump engineered train wreck of a fall. We are here to take a break before the storm. Let’s enjoy it while we can.”
I stopped. I didn’t open up the message. I slid my phone back in my pocket.
“A ray of hope to go with the sunrise,” said Middie as she turned to watch it.”
No words passed between us as now I turned too, to take in the magic as the sky lightened its dark purple hues with streaks of yellow from the low hanging clouds. Finally I said, “It’s beautiful.”
“La plage capture la beauté à chaque lever de soleil,” I heard at my feet.
“French?”
“Frank taught me. It means the beach captures beauty with each sunrise.”
“Impressive language skills,” I told here.
“Like a sunrise you must capture to appreciate, knowledge is so.”
“Confucius?”
“No. It’s mine, you may quote me,” she said.
“You know, Middie, you have quite a way with words.”
“Thank you. And let me tell you, I’m available for certain editorial consultation in case you get stuck on anything you may be writing.”
“Pro bono?
“We’ll negotiate.”
We both stood silently after that, drinking in the beauty as it continued to unfold - the original peeking of the light, then as the sun rose and slid behind a low bank of clouds out to sea, it laid out it’s beauty across the calm waters, almost like an offering. We continued to watch in silent awe.
Finally we turned, and still without a word, we headed back to the blanket where my wife was organizing a small breakfast.
“Things had never looked better,” I remember thinking.
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