Homesick

The sun rises above the snow capped mountain throwing a blinding light on the calm waters of Puget Sound. Lush green fern trees seperate the two. No boats dot the water and I cannot see another house from where I sit drinking coffee from a giant brown mug. There is a peaceful scerenity to it all. A light chilled breeze is blowing so the branches are waving their tips wishing me a good morning. I find myself just sitting and staring at it, breathing it in and feeling as though I'm living a prayer. Others are asleep. It was a big night. After a rehersal for a wedding, there was a party in Roche Harbor, a quaint little fishing village that Norman Rockwell must have designed. Salmon was grilled, mussells steamed and wine flowed freely. Sitting around a huge fire pit, we laughed, toasted, spoke in pairs or found ourselves staring in silence at the beauty of our surroundings. Earlier in the day we'd made our way to Lime Klinn Park where pods of Orca Whales live. The mountains of Canada are across the sound. Otters and Sea Lions break the surface and sun. A tiny lighthouse sits atop a cliff and we sit there waiting and watching. The only sounds are those of nature ... the breaking of a tree limb, water slapping against rocks, the roaring silence of creation. Sarah snapped photographs when we weren't holding hands, walking and appreciating the experience. Conner keeps us laughing when he's around. His kids and grandchildren bring a youthful enthusiasm to it all when we're around them. They search the shore for eels and large purple Starfish or gleefully throw rocks in the water. "We should have booked more time here," I say. "We've come to the other side of the country and we're only staying for a couple of days. We could have driven south to Portland and that area." Nodding her head, Sarah replied, "Yeah but I'm ready to be home ... in our house. We've been gone a lot and we're still setting up our home. The girls will be away another week and I want to finish painting, get their rooms done and clean out the storage room." She's right. It's been a busy few months for us beginnning with our marriage in March. We went to Belize, took the girls to Daytona and then I had to share St. Martin with Sarah. Now we're in the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington waiting on whales. "We've hardly been in our home," she sighs, surrounded by uncommon beauty and a question of who knows when we get to do this again. "Yeah," I softly answer. Homesickness happens ... often when you least expect it. It's Chelsea's birthday and I'm far, far away. There hasn't been enough Tybee time in our lives. We've taken the girls to the beach once this summer. There's only been scant skirmishes with the Carnival of Friends. Attendace at the daily Bored Meetings in front of Fannies-on-the-Beach have been brief and random. Goddess and I have barley touched the sad, little, holy dock. Winston, the little gay dog, still isn't properly trained for life inside. Fran and her thousand shades of green are lonely standing guard on the Beloved Back Deck without us. The charcoal in the grill is old. I miss the smell of the marsh and the feel of salt sticking to my skin. Sarah is looking at me. She has this way of being very intensely thinking while staring so deeply it cuts right through you. I look back at her, nodding my head. We're ready to come home.