I slept as deeply last night as I had slept restlessly the night before, which is to say, very. I woke once during the night, thinking it was morning, and seeing the room somewhat illuminated, as if by imminent dawn, I got up to look out through the glass door to see what the day may hold. I was surprised that it was not yet close to dawn. The light was only the ground floor hotel lighting (of the beach access below my balcony), diffused and reflected by a dense fog. No view here. None. I went back to sleep.

I slept deeply and woke… discontented and restless. The fog persists. I can only now, just barely, make out the edges of the low tide. I frown at the fog. I’m surprised to feel completely disinterested in a beach walk on a foggy morning – so unlike me! I shower, feeling fussy. I dress, feeling a tad restless, not quite “cross”. I get coffee, reflecting on the feeling of the moment. I return feeling mostly pretty well sorted out; I miss my Traveling Partner more, at this point, than I am enjoying my own company. It’s not a surprise. I was gonna get here sooner or later – far better to arrive at this emotional place before I finish my bit of away time, able to return home fully appreciating the human being waiting for me there. šŸ™‚

So, I packed my bag. Re-loaded the car. I’m taking my leisure over my coffee, and a bit of writing. The wide-open balcony door fills the room with briny ocean breezes. Eventually, this moment right here will feel “complete” and be finished, likely with the click of the “publish” button, or perhaps after one last lingering look out to the horizon, as the morning sun begins to burn away the fog? At that point, I’ll message my partner that I’m on my way home, and get that journey going.

…It already feels like “time to begin again”… I miss that guy. šŸ™‚

So, I sit here with my coffee, the sound of the ocean, and this quiet moment, watching the fog diminish, then thicken, revealing the rocky shore at low tide, then coyly hiding it away again. If I were to curate a collection of moments to share, this one might make it into that collection; it has a certain moody unsettled loveliness. More than enough to satisfy a desire for solitary contemplation.

I hear the plaintive forlorn call of a seagull before I see the bird fly past. Yep. Time to begin again.