Monday, March 23, 2015

Happy In My Black Heaven

Cool and light breeze out here on the porch this morning, and one never knows what to expect, does one. Yesterday it was a large ship arriving silently in the wee hours. Last evening, in spite of my two hour high priestly Sunday afternoon nap, I dozed off after a TV special ended, and Linda watched another large ship departing from the Port -- to add intrigue I’ll say “slipping away to sea under cover of darkness.” We love the ocean traffic coming and going in the daytime, but until yesterday did not realize there’s so much traffic at night as well. Seventh floor is a marvelous vantage point.

Yet I haven’t checked the weather, because once I go online world and national news will start jumping out at me, like Tolkien’s giant spider all bad, and I’m not ready for Monday to be spoiled.

A good vantage point, as I say. To my left from the balcony I look down on Oaks by the Bay Park here in St. Andrews. Generally, the only voices we can hear in this most private area of Harbour Village are people on the park decks, especially children, and the occasional wedding on the beach right below us. There was a wedding Sunday afternoon and they were taking flash pictures until well after dark. Right now though I see flashlight beams playing in the park, including shining up into trees, can’t tell what that’s about at three o’clock in the morning, and no voices can be heard.  The only sound is waves lapping ashore.

If it weren’t for the news then, I’d be pretty sure this is heaven. I’m up high looking down and out and over My Town, no four-square Jerusalem can equal this. Love life while I have it, whatever comes next is assurance, an elusive promise. I can see My Town without being distressed by whatever’s going on down there. Off to the west, that string of high-rise condo lights that I’ve seen before, and still this predawn, a diamond bracelet lying on the Gulf of Mexico. Couple miles away over the black velvet of St. Andrews Bay, that flashing green light speaking to me, calling me as surely as the green light on the end of Daisy’s dock calling Jay Gatsby. Though one of the best, that was fiction, but this is real. 

The flashlight beams are gone.


Postscript this morning, minding my promise to a dear friend to post my sermon texts here, yesterday’s will go up later this morning. 

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