Yesterday I spent the morning at Gulf Shores, Alabama, walking on the beach.  Through the polarized lenses of my sunglasses, the sky overhead was impossibly blue.  The water, the color of celery at my feet, darkened to deep marine at the horizon. At the end of my vision’s reach, I could see a white glow rising upward, like a breath released from the earth into the sky.  I felt the water ripple over my feet.  Looking down, I saw the water returning from the tide pools in thin, clear sheets, spreading over the sand to collide with the waves coming in from the sea, creating a triangle that narrowed as it flowed and then crossed itself before being covered by the next wave. The sound of breaking surf almost drowned out the sounds of voices and music.

Looking up into the sky, I felt my heart reach toward the heavens, into that incredible blue that always, always thrills me.

Just a few days ago I fled south to avoid a hurricane.

Just a few days ago I fled the Carolinas to avoid a hurricane. There, people are dealing with power outages and floods and fallen trees and washed out roads, trying to locate family members and assess their losses. I’ll go back soon, and try to pick up where I left off.

But for now, I am here. Life has brought me to this place, this moment. I will take time to think of those who are still there, dealing with the storm. I will take moments to wish them safety and health.

And then I’ll get back to being in the moment. Because really, it’s the only moment there is.

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