I am working in my loft, Up The Mast if you will, and was struck by the beauty of the scene out my window. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am bit of a sentimentalist, so you will have to bear with me.
Waking up before sunrise and climbing into the loft to work and watch the sunrise is one of life's pleasures for me. It is usually not too long before one of my girls comes up to join - reading on the bean bag, or climbing into my lap as I type and clear my inbox.
This morning, though, the scene was "wicked cool", in the parlance of the St. Michael's College students hailing from Massachusetts (as most of them did in 1990). Last night, we had a raging squall pass overhead, complete with winter thunder and horizontal rain bullets. Our house, situated facing east out the front on the Great South Bay, shudders with the wind of any self-respecting squall. It is almost the same feeling of our boat Tide Pool trying to break free from its anchor during a blow - almost. The creak of the windows as the unobstructed east wind shoves against the house during a particulary strong gust reminds me of the anchor chain straining against the bow pulpit roller which is directly overhead of our berth. The house shakes it off like the boat driving against the anchor chain as hard as possible to one side before relenting and turning back to start over again to the other side of scope. In short, I love it - in fact I live for it.
Following the squall this morning as I was writing my last post, the front blew through and the sun came out - but not like a passing summer squall where there is definitive line between the angry cloud line and blue bird sky. In winter, the scene is confused with bay temparatures out of whack with rapidly changing air temparatures. No, this scene of a passing winter squall is less ordinary and plenty interesting. The bay is turned up with whitecaps pushed by a strong south-east, post squall wind. A strange fog is lifting off the surface. Above, is the clear, pale blue sky and bright, low-in-the-sky winter sun illuminating the mist and making the damp trees sparkle.
Lexie is reading behind me on the bean bag as this scene unfolds.
How can I not be inspired?
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