For a better story

I packed up and went to the shore yesterday.
On a moment's notice.
A whim.  You might say.
No planning ahead.  Just doing.
Serendipity.

For me.  A flight of freedom.
Of nostalgia.  Of independence.
Wind in my hair.  Music loud.

And over the dune.  Another world waiting.

Ocean surf crashing.
Gulls wheeling.  Their incessant crying.
Making me feel, well . . .  happy.

And as wide as the sea; the sand.
Sparsely populated this day. 
A few, small islands of beach towels and chairs.
The occasional burst of distant laughter.
Conversations wafting like a poorly tuned radio.
In the early summer cool.

Sitting back.  Breathing deep.
Of the sweet slow.
And the filling of beauty.

And there.  In my beach chair.
Reading. And finding for others too.
This quest for rest.  In a life.

White space.  It's called.
Those areas intentionally left blank.
A place for the eye to rest.
In graphic design.

Because.
Life requires editing.

In the midst of hurry and busy and too much.

Rooms and wardrobes and stories and works of art too.

A discipline, yes.
In order to be better.

Whole scenes sometimes relegated to the editing floor.
In the making of art.  A movie.  Or a book. 
The styling of a room even.
Because.
An eye can be overstimulated by too much good.
Something has to go.

Our lives too.

A necessity. To edit.
A waste of time.  Never.
Creating white space.

For beauty and tranquility and the mooring of our lives.

A season.  A day.  An hour.
To slow down.  Unplug.
The letting go.
Finding margin in our lives.

For a better story.

Summertime summertime

 

Images of summer.
Crazy good moments.

Salty air.  Spray in your face.
Skimming across water.  Sun warming.
The jaw-dropping everyday ordinary.  Of summer.

From a boat and from a beach and living large.
A lazy afternoon; mind-numbing, spirit-soaring goodness filling.
Earth crammed with heaven.

Counting the gifts.
Living them large.  Thankful.