There are no stars.
Just the Lady in the Moon, draped in purple clouds standing in front of infinity.
The aroma in the sticky salt air is the pungent smell of sex in the tropics emanating from the Marshes.
Bringing my gaze down, I see the stars on the water ... lights from houses, boats and docks punctuating where the Low Country ends and Heaven begins.
"It's a perfect night to open the windows," I say to my wife who's driving.
"HA!" she laughs, patting my hand resting on her swelled belly, "No way!"
I sigh and resume looking at the wonder of islands at night.
"I need a hair tie," Sarah says, driving with one hand and holding her long, lush hair with the other.
"I don't have one," Maddie says, typing away into the glow of her phone.
I roll my window up, though Sarah keeps the sun roof open and her window cracked.
This is my favorite time of year.
The Marsh is at it's zenith with beautiful colors of green and gold ... summer reigns supreme ... the Rivers are flat and the water's warm ... Ocean breezes kiss rather than blow.
"You can roll the window down," Sarah smiles as we slow down rolling on to Tybee where cops hide in wait.
Immediately I do and ... it's Heaven on earth.
The stars sleeping on Bull River are breathtaking ... on that crazy unplanned island of congestion, construction, gated communities and fast food.
To the left, the stars on Hilton Head are equally stunning ... in the land of a planned development of Golf courses, toll roads, bike paths and resorts ... with only a hint remaining of the simple beauty if used to be when little was there.
Rolling on to the clump of sand we call home, it's a place much like it's always been ... aside from the explosion of Government, Police officers, regulations and permits.
If you live here ... you know where to slow down and to speed up ... when to take your dogs on the Beach ... take beer in a cold bottle to watch them frolic ... park for free ... make love in the sand dunes.
Tybee people with a heart agonize at the thousands who come here and to pay for these simple pleasures with tremendous fines, arrests, court appearances and the countless circling of the streets searching to park a car for $.25/15 minutes.
Islanders without a heart could care less.
As far as they're concerned it's all there's anyway.
Turning on Jones Avenue to make a complete stop at the sign where they cops lay in wait.
Stealing once last glance at the wonderment of an island at night, I rub my baby growing in my wife's belly, suck in the smell of the marsh, blow a kiss to the Lady in the Moon, thank God for this life already wishing Sarah would let me open the windows tonight.
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