“Tranquility’s Hideaway” (The start of a story I wrote many moons ago.)
I go there to listen,
. . . where the blackest blue of the sky descends to almost meet the bluest black of the ocean. Nestled between is a furrow of indistinct mist that can’t be mentally interpolated. The solitude of the last breath of twilight seems to hold all answers, answers that will be shared when the searcher attains harmony with its magic.
The horizonal fissure between the two darknesses has no substance. To some it is no more than a vague bikini line on the hips of a gray and black concave wall. To others it is the semblance of a long dimly lit road through an inky desert. But to a few, it is a place where less is more, where less is everything.
Life was scarce at the beach one night . . .
Yesterday, I had the divine pleasure of being invited to the residence of two dear friends near Clearwater Beach. As you might have guessed, the picture above is one moment of the continual movie playing from their balcony.
Vistas at all similar to that one is what put cruising so high on my priority list. Flawless. Majestic. Infinite.
With eyes shut I can sense that presence anywhere, but even the thought of it being continually present in your backyard was, and still is, mesmerizing.
The enticement of that hazy line where the sea meets the sky seems to melt away all worldly concerns. If you’ve never given that combination a chance to melt you, you might want to allow that to happen someday.
Thank you friends, for the opportunity to rekindle that affinity with the Infinite.
The Infinite 