A Walk by the Gulf

life Has its momentsA doctor's appointment took me south today, and after being poked and prodded and declared sound, of body at least, I was free to go. Having come so far, it seemed a waste to just turn around and head home, so I didn't.

First, to a quilt shop. It's one of the nicer ones, and I felt like I'd stepped into the middle of a rainbow. Such beautiful, vibrant colors! Didn't need anything special, but did find, way at the back, a bin of clearance priced fat quarters at fifty cents each! AND there were even some pretty ones, not just rejects....

Came out into the blue and breezy sunshine, and spotted a leafy green lane, right across the street from the quilt shop, at the end of which lane the waters of the gulf glistened invitingly. I'm a sucker for leafy green lanes. Add some water, and how can I resist? I set off, on foot, down said leafy green lane to see what I would see. It wound along between the gulf and the big sprawling gardens of some lovely old houses. There were lazy swings in some, suspended from big gnarly, old Florida trees. A small dog yapped at me from a porch. The woman sitting on the porch with him smiled and waved.

"He's just saying hello," she called out.

I smiled and waved back.

On the gulf side of the path there were small docks with a variety of boats tied up to them. One little pier, in particular, caught my eye. Squadrons of gulls were standing on it , all facing into the brisk breeze. They looked so military. I wondered if their commander had issued the order "beaks south, gentlemen," and that was how they ended up, to a man, I mean bird, all facing in exactly the same direction.

As I retraced my steps towards the car, I stopped to talk to another woman who was weeding in her lovely garden, in front of her lovely house. I wondered if she knew why the birds all faced in the same direction? She believed they faced into the wind so as not to get their feathers ruffled. Sensible birds. I also like to do things in a way that won't get my feathers ruffled. In spite of my best efforts though, I often seem to ruffle other feathers.

As we chatted, in civilised fashion, my Inner Beachcomber was making a pain of herself inside my head.

"Go on, ask her! Ask her if you can move into a small room in her attic! Tell her you'll be no bother, she won't even know you're there! Then we can walk along by the water every day, and gaze out on it from our attic window every night. Go on, ask her!"

I managed to squelch the beachcomber, and making a last complimentary comment about the lady's lovely garden, I went on my way.

"Rats!" said the beachcomber. "You're no fun!"

And so we wended our way slowly homeward, stopping at this shop and that, and most importantly, the nice bakery along the way. The beachcomber sulked, but her spirits lifted when I promised that on the next trip to the doc, we'd bring more sensible shoes and go a little further, to a really nice beach and have a really long walk.