‘An extra day—

Extraordinarily like any other.
And still
there is some generosity to it,
like a letter re-readable after its writer has died.”

~ Excerpt from “February 29,” by Jane Hirshfield

Leap day. Hello wind, sun, air, water, sand, birds, shells, breath, waves, shadow, memory. Coffee and cold weather, wet feet. Billowing hat. A good night’s sleep and this walk to Longboat Pass. Birds sheltering, unseen, from this hardy wind. In the entrance to the lagoon, a jellyfish? A white blob on the sandy bottom and sun lines, ripples of fascination. Quietly, thinking, remembering the Frost poem I posted last night: Acceptance. Letting it sink in, considering how a day, a single day, like this one, this leap day, this “extra” day, thank you for it, how a day begins and ends, an entity all its own. Sun setting into darkness, as Frost says, setting into the safety of the bird finding its way home, safe, before dark, and then the night, all the unknown and unseen of the darkness. I love how this blog, this writing, this practice of photos, fresh in real time, fresh for this day, this practice keeps me focused on living in today. How unpredictable it all is. How grateful I can be just for now. How could I not, be mystified and gratified by these wonders of the world coming into my view. And still, how much, how very very much is here that I do not notice! Sometimes, from home, I can look out to the Gulf and see the people walking along the beach, running along the beach, singly and in pairs and groups of happy beach walkers, and I can see beyond them, to a dolphin breeching, or a pair of dolphins leaping, and I can see the dolphins behind the passersby who cannot see them, have not spotted them, they are not looking out to sea, and they are missing the spectacle going on right beside them. I miss so much too when I am walking. But what I do see, what I notice, what calls to me, I see up close and personal and I really look and I appreciate, I try to appreciate what comes into view. Here is what came into view today.