bee-loud glade

Clear blue and cloudless, 55° 69% a perfect fall morning on the Florida Gulf Coast. I’m looking across StAndrewsBay over Shell Island into the Gulf of Mexico on a day so perfectly fall, autumn, that we had oatmeal for breakfast, steel-cut or some such variety. A little crunch, and I like mine varying, various depending on day and mood, sometimes lots of stuff, this morning salt and pepper and a pat of butter. Fall won’t last, though, maybe a couple of days before summer returns and shifts back and forth with cool versus too warm and muggy until cool settles in. Maybe a few hours of winter a day or two along in January, then in March some bitter cold windy days only describable as "raw." So raw that this coming March I may go visit the mountains on the far side of the sun, a great-grandfather has a small cabin there, of clay and wattles made.  

Ah, but today …

Driving out to Laguna Beach late this morning to change water into wine and lunch with a fellow clergyman. Episcopal clergy are all the same except for the occasional one who effects frilly cuffs, a sleeveless red vest, ankle-length like Joseph’s long coat of many colors, purple shirt, big stick, throne and palace. Say sir. I like my bishops as far distant as I liked my admirals.

Early, the pelicans will continue splashing down below until they’ve had their fill of mullet. Skilled and smart enough, I could throw a net for some too, but I’ll visit a fish market soon for a couple long ones heavy with red.

Fall is Time to remember long ago, filching oysters from a bucket, and pulling strips of salt mullet with my brother. And I can see "where" from here. Sometimes nothing else matters.

DThos+