No one grumbles among the oyster clans,

And lobsters play their bone guitars all summer.

Only we, with our opposable thumbs, want

Heaven to be, and God to come, again.

~ Excerpt from “Wanting Sumptuous Heavens,” by Robert Bly

The Gulf of Mexico, shushing in through open windows, the waves, in and out of sleep, first night, new place. Frank leaves before sunrise for tennis. I rise in the dark, wait for dawn. The beach becomes visible in faint light. It’s time to go out, to beat the shell pickers. I am walking in a summer of my winter days, suddenly warm and breezed and there is foam, no ice forming here. Just the beach where I walked so many days a year ago, so familiar, and yet a year has passed, and every new day there is the surprise of change and the mystery of the unknown. Entering enchanted territory. The moment of lift off, flight. I walk to Beer Can Island, to the Bradenton Bridge and back in the soothing sunlight. Soon, Frank and I both return into our day of settling in. And tonight, the loveliest reunion with dear friends from up north who are wintering here too. We walk the beach at sunset with the shorebirds and over dinner, our conversation is deepened by long friendship, stages grown through and passed. The soles of our feet tenderized. Here we are, me and Frank, sitting in the afternoon next to each other in front of this vast body of water where we had our first swim together, our first kiss, not far from here, thirty three years ago.