Another early morning. I don’t see a soul; the beach belongs to me and the birds under a pink clouded sky. A sandbar has moved in and the Gulf is calm and serenely rolling. I stop on the breakwater to feel them rolling, rolling toward me. I know I am ready to go. I know this the moment I step onto the beach this morning, and I’m surprised how strongly I feel ready to depart. Frank feels it too, it seems. We agree to try and leave a day early. Easily, we change our flight without a penalty. It’s a packing morning. I go through my shells. Some will be returned to the shore tomorrow. I have flashes of melancholy, typical for me in transition from a trip I’ve loved. So many wonderful things have happened here with people I love and people I’ve been getting to know. I will miss the dolphins and shorebirds and shells and the sun rising through the pilings of Longboat Pass Bridge. There is so much to go home to. I want to be there too, on the River, in the woods. Tonight, we watch the sun set at Lido Key Beach. I remember being here with my brothers and sisters when we watched the sun go down together on the last night of their visit. I will bring my post card poems home with me and trust in the mystery of the creative process that they will become what they are meant to become.