The sky over the Atlantic Ocean is already a pale skim blue even fifteen minutes before the sun rises. Pebbled white salt and dotted over the coarse tan sand leaves our skin looking like the texture of a basketball as we lay in and on and all through it this one last morning in Hollywood, Florida. Coffee is hot, the water is crystal and blue and endless, ships are sailing out cargo or cruise ship passengers and the world behind us has yet to begin it’s daily stir. It takes awhile for the sun to make it’s rise and shine but when it does, how it climbs quick up and over the water. You can see it in it’s path, an inch through the sky a second, it seems, and there’s little to do now but watch it leave the water, watch it work it’s way to zenith.
The entire event is slow and easy and the woman sharing it with me turns to look at me, her head blocking that great life giving star of our Mother Earth’s content circling and the silhouette of her hair–all wild, chocolate and tree branches–is enough to pull the tide in on its own. We smoke cigarettes, put the fire and smoke out into the freckled sand beside us, and fall asleep in the morning air. I am instant in the moment, content in the eternity that this morning will prove to be and even though I’m all too completely aware of what impending separation airplanes will be as they float her back to those Rocky Mountain tops and myself into the belly of Pennsylvania, there is nothing here but the calming sound of air in our lungs, sleep in our eyes and young in our love.