WEEK TWENTY-SEVEN: HEDONISM

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Like most everyone else, I love the beach – especially along the Atlantic Ocean.  On windy days, with a wind from the east, the waves are excited, building momentum, merging, crashing, tossing spray and running frantically up the packed sand, forcing awareness.  They are insistent that way, like my daughter at five, relentlessly coming at me, demanding my full attention and rewarding that attention with a raw breathless energy.  But on days when there is a soft westerly breeze, all is different.  The sea is meditating – breathing softly – each exhale a sigh.  The waves are there but quieter and more orderly, falling forward in slow motion, creating a series of soft fading whispers that demand nothing.

We recently spent three days in Vero Beach.  Photo-wise, I came away with only this quirky image I made during breakfast at the hotel, from the beach-side patio.  It is an odd photo, but it captures that beachy feeling.  There are sailing pelicans and palm trees and a little piece of ocean in the corner, providing context.

A beach-side breakfast is my personal definition of hedonism, for what could be better – sandy flip-flops, tee shirt and shorts, sunglasses, soft breeze and the sound of those meditating waves.  And an ice-cold glass of fresh orange juice.  I could sit there all morning until the lunch menu comes out, switching contentedly to a Bloody Mary.  It’s all too delicious.

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