Good Morning, Baywood

An exercise in Wallflowering

It’s the coolest morning we’ve had since we arrived. The sun is obviously high in the sky but a layer of heavy clouds protect us from her beautiful but brutal glory. Everything seems to be slightly drenched, not dewy. Like we’ve just missed rainfall instead of residual from the overnight sprinklers. It’s hard to tell. If the sun was showing, there would be no evidence of either and the humidity would be slightly oppressive. But for now… a much welcomed cool shady breeze. I’m cherishing every second of it because I know this moment will pass quickly.

On mornings like this, the vegetation seems denser, the greens darker and lusher. The damp air smells much earthier. It reminds me of mornings in the rainforest when everything around me felt… fresh.

Even when the sun is high, this is still my favorite spot. The back porch of the Baywood house overlooking the tee of the golf course’s hole 1. I sit here and sip my coffee… reading… writing… reflecting… to the soundtrack of birds and bugs until the hum of golf carts cuts in like breaking news. The occupants commanding an audience. I am not a fan of golf. I don’t even pretend to be. Yet watching these folks is fascinating. I love hearing the faint whoosh of the club cutting the air then the echoing THWACK when that little white ball gets sent into invisibility. It sounds like a whip-crack. I don’t know what a good hit or a bad hit is (or even if you call it a hit… swing? shot, maybe?). I suspect hearing the ball cutting through the tree line above this porch is probably not considered a good hit/swing/shot.

The sun wants to play now. She’s starting to slowly burn away her cover as I see faint patches of blue sky spreading above. The dark hunter and forest greens fading and illuminating to light kelly and chartreuse. The heat and humidity, taking their sweet time, but rising nonetheless. The sun sends one glowing yellow beam across the tee box then tucks back behind a cloud. A warning.

I take the last sip of coffee from my cup as I watch a set of golfers whoosh and thwack. There are voices coming from inside the house indicating children are awake and breakfast is in progress. Any minute they will notice me on this porch having “time to myself.”

Another warning beam from the sun. She’s not telling me to leave. She just knows what I know… all good things come to an end… and this moment is no exception.

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