Remember this

I hear the hum of the wind as soon as I wake up; it’s steady and constant. The perfect accompaniment to the dull light and the water drops on the window panes. I peer through the window and see that the butterfly cage I put on the deck to be rinsed in the rain has disappeared. I look around the yard more thoroughly and there it is, towards the back, visiting with a tree. Later, I look again and it’s somewhere else. Later still, a new spot. I envision writing a slice about the cage dancing or playing hide and seek.

I’ve just poured the hot water for my tea to steep, the radio is playing in the background, and I’ve taken out milk from the fridge for my granola, when the room dims. The radio is silent. I forgot, when I heard the wind, to consider the consequences. But the tea is made and breakfast doesn’t need to be cooked, so I shift my breakfast spot closer to the window, and settle in for a leisurely morning. When the power doesn’t return, I decide to take my laptop on an outing. We drive into town, but the one stoplight I pass isn’t working; a bad sign. I drive slowly past the coffeeshop–nope, no lights on–and head out of town. The next town I come to on Route 1 looks to have power; the stoplight is working, and there’s an open flag flying in front of the coffee shop I never manage to catch during business hours. I take my time browsing through the shop, and then settle at the one long table they have in a back room. Acoustic music is playing softly, the smell of pizza is in the air, my chai is just the right temperature to drink, and I’ve got a chocolate babka to nibble on while I read. This is what I want to write about today, I know. This perfect moment. A gift from the universe that I landed here.

Chai drunk, library visited until closing time, I make my way towards other errands. I walk down the steep ramp to the boat dock and lean over the dinghy, full from rain. The sun has come out, imbuing the world with gold. It’s a quintessential Maine moment. Gulls squawk–nasally, guttural, a grebe arcs and dives below the water. Lobster traps are stacked like bricks on the pier above. Most of the gulls fly away, and the world is so still that when the final remaining gull drops a shell, I can hear it crack on the rocks. I watch it pick out its food until, with raucous cries, a swarm of gulls stream past. A minute later, I see an eagle fly down the channel, the swarm of gulls following. By this time I’ve bailed enough water out of the boat that I can perch on its seat. It sways this way and that, and I wonder if I’ll end up with a dunking, but I don’t. I lean against the weathered wood of the dock with one arm, the other scooping water and pouring it over the side, scooping water and pouring it over the side. It’s a moment of calm I haven’t had many of lately. This, I decide, this is what I should write about.

This is what I want to remember: the playfulness of the wind, the gift of spontaneity, the sense of calm, my good fortune to have a slice of life for capturing these memories.