st augustine

Surfer

Surfer
I hurried to his side as soon as I saw him standing by the water’s edge. He looked to be in serious trouble. He was bent over, face down, palms on knees. He breathed heavily, noisily as he inhaled, his mouth O-shaped, lips extended. His body moved with his breathing.

He must have sensed my presence because eventually he spoke, but head still facing the sand and only when exhaling, his words whisper-riding each puff of air. I had to move closer and bend further down to hear them.

– Big wave!
– Got tossed!
– Board tore loose!
– Rip current!
– Back in!
– Got board!

Without looking up, he pointed to a surfboard that lay in the sand some paces away.

I asked him then what I could do to help him, but he shook his head. Eventually, his breathing slowed. He pushed himself up off his knees. He adjusted his suit. He looked at me and smiled briefly. Then he walked slowly to his surfboard, picked it up, and tucked it under his left arm. He walked back into the surf.

 

Pre-Dawn Thoughts of My Father at the Saint Augustine Lighthouse

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Here, at the lighthouse pier, my rod rests on the railing and for a moment my line slices open the moving water below. It is early morning, not far past six, still too soon see the sun, but the dock to my north is now visible in the charcoal light, and the lighthouse now reveals its stripes.

In the summer of 1962, my father imagined aloud this life I now live, next to this very lighthouse and not far from our ‘57 Chevy with New York plates, though too far from ever reaching his own retirement.

I often say these days that I am living my father’s dream, though right at this moment I cannot help but wonder whether I am dreaming of my father, or for him, or (could it be?) my father is dreaming of me.

Freedom’s Price

FreedomsPrice

Surrendering to the schooner’s inability to tack against the increasing strength of the northeast wind in the narrow channel, the captain told his first mate to turnabout just south of Porpoise Point and return to St. Augustine’s harbor. Jacques, overhearing the order, glass of wine in hand and chatting amiably with fellow passengers, silently began his calculations for jumping ship.

Note from the St. Augustine Waterfront

BoatinMorningTwilight for card-can print any size

Since moving to this town by the sea, I have become attracted to sights of sailboats moored in calm harbor waters during the minute or two before night disappears into the advancing day. At those times, I am filled with a quiet certainty that passing fancies of mine involving some derring-do are both possible and advisable. For good or bad, such notions invariably fade as the light strengthens.