The Friday Before Christmas: You’ll Wish You Were Here
We walked away from the sunset, a smoldering and dazzling sphere of yellow and orange sinking into the marsh, heading toward a powder blue sky, the color of my grandmother’s favorite Sunday-go-to-meetin’ dress.
Ahead lay the heavens and the sea, a palette of azure and soft pinks and violet.
The small island is finally at rest after a summer filled with squeals, laughter, picnics and volleyball.
Sea foam sizzled softly as it met the cool sand, leaving behind tiny shells and tidbits for the gulls to peck.
Tranquility was plentiful.
And then it was night. And it was the Friday before Christmas.
And all through the streets and beaches, not a creature was stirring. Not even the police.
We searched high and we searched low.
But we found no one. Nothing.
Time had stood still.
Then, peeking from above, there it was. As plain as day.
A star? A planet?
Could someone, perhaps three wise travelers, use the bright light to lead the way?
I wonder. I wondered, indeed.
After all, it was the Friday before Christmas.
Denene and I have a tradition of going to the beach on Christmas Day – Santa Cruz, Monterey, Carmel, Plum Island, Hampton Beach, Newburyport, St. Simons, and Tybee Island, to name a few.