Snowfall to sunset

        I remember Mama recounting tales from the days when we lived in Amherst, Massachusetts. I was barely there, being only two. My father was teaching at University of Mass – Poly Sci I think – but only briefly, before we all moved to Arlington, Va. after he was hired by CIA.

          We rented a house in Amherst from the man next door named Gilbert, who had a small farm. There were plenty of stories about being chased by geese, and the time we were almost charged by Dougal the goat. My older sister’s gleeful version had her thrusting me in front of her for protection. Typical older sister.

          One we heard time and again was about epic snowfall, and how Daddy would shovel out the front walk and when my sister and I would run up and down it, the snow was over our heads.

          Well, folks, it looks like quite a bit of the country will be re-living that soon.

 

          Meanwhile, happily dug in here in Florida, we’re watching the weather events unfold, glad we’re not experiencing them ourselves.

          So last night we tossed the beach chairs in the car to view our first sunset since we’ve been here. We’re on the west coast of Florida, and living as we usually do in a northern town full of trees and sunset-blocking hills, this is always magical.

      

    We went to the beach right on the outskirts of town – less than 4 miles from our front door – and actually found a parking spot. Not unlike lemmings to the sea, people were pulling up, grabbing chairs, and working their way across the sand, some with canes, some with kids, to find a good spot.

          We landed by the lifeguard station, the volleyball net to our right, and the sun obligingly straight ahead.

          As we waited, there was plenty to see on land. There were people holding tiny dogs – in spite of the firm “No Dogs!” sign at the beach path beginning. Children ran and yelled – which is basically required of all children on all beaches.

          And a slim man in a white straw fedora stood by himself, facing the sun, and went through a continuous routine of what looked to be prayerful gestures that were part Tai Chi and part dance moves. He was ignored by his neighbors, who perhaps accepted his movements like I did, as adding to the contemplative mood of sunset watching.

          He continued until the last glimmer of light, and as a sailboat passed across the sun, he gave a deep bow and just walked away.