Delights: Sept. 24 to Sept. 30

September 24: As my friend Lee and I made our way over the marshes and ponds of Huntley Meadows, he suddenly whispered, “Listen.” A new bird call? A leaping fish or the splash of a snapping turtle sliding from its log? Cricket song or the crisp susurration of the wind-blown treetops? “No,” he said, “listen to the bees.” Sure enough, under nature’s quiet commotion, I heard the steady hum of a thousand bees sipping nectar from a thousand autumn blooms. They provided a surprising base note to the marsh’s tapestry of sound.  

We ate or sandwiches here. That’s more texture: from marsh to monument.

September 25: Overheard at Reckoning: Protest. Defiance. Resilience, a new exhibit at the National Museum of African American History & Culture: A seven-year old gestured to the art work on the walls and asked her sister: “Are all these painted by Black people?” Yes. The little girl exhaled.  “Cool.”

Wives of Sango, Jeff Donaldson (1971)
Walking, by Charles Henry Alston (1958).

September 26: A parade of strollers ascended the hill past me, on their way to 10 am practice. I had already seen dozens of four-year olds clasping the hands of smiling parents and trotting in large colorful circles. In the park behind me, parents had made videos of their little ones, wrangled waiting siblings, and arranged rows of juice boxes. As the 9:30 am practice rolled to a close, the coach led a cheer. “Soccer!” all the parents yelled.

September 27: Here’s a flyer I almost posted today at our local coffee shop: “Sixty-two year old Mom seeks novice Dungeons & Dragons player (bards, clerics and paladins welcomed) to join her in adventures led by Dungeon Master Willem Wildhammer, her kind, funny and patient son.” I’ve now cast my 20-sided die, survived Ability Checks, outwitted goblins, and begun to ponder the name and backstory of my Halfling Rogue. Perhaps “Zephidaya Silverdance,”affable fugitive and thief.

These abandoned elevated railroad tracks invite me to linger.

September 28: High overhead, music drifted from a tree-brushed five-story apartment building. Perhaps someone was exercising on her balcony. Then I heard singing. I looked up: near the top of the building, eight window-washers dangled from their cords. Some up, some down, they were arrayed like the points and valleys of a picket fence. And all of them, it seemed, enjoyed the shade, the breeze and the song. 

I also saw these cone flowers on my walk.

September 29: All week, my Google Maps cheerfully (and randomly) reminded me that the beach was just a few hours away. And so here I am, with a front row seat to the ocean. At midweek, no one rides the waves or plays in the foaming surf. I see no shell-gatherers, castle-builders or attentive moms. Nothing lies before me but the marbling waves as they crest and fall, one after another slanting with the wind. The horizon is jagged with swells and white caps. An orchestra of sandpipers scurries by, chased by their seagull conductor. The ocean doesn’t beckon today; it’s just showing off, like stage performers who invite you to sit back and marvel. I had forgotten my book. But who needs to read when such a magnificent spectacle unfolds before me?

For just a moment I saw a sunbather tracing the course of a seagull in the sky.

Bonus: Today is National Coffee Day and the local radio station invited listeners to nominate coffee-themed songs. Here are the top five: (5) Stir It Up, by Patti LaBelle; (2) Tom’s Diner, by Suzanne Vega; (3) Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, by Wham! (2) You’re So Vain, by Carly Simon (I think it’s the “clouds in my coffee” line), and the number one song by Squeeze, Black Coffee in Bed. The radio station, which escorts me back and forth to the beach, boasts the delightful call-letters WAVE.

p.s. Suzanne Vega’s song, Tom’s Diner, records nothing more — and nothing less — than the art of noticing. And finding a story in everyday things.

September 30: During my walk down the beach, I saw an exuberantly attractive woman in a black midriff top, long black skirt and a black cape billowing behind her. A leopard print scarf wrapped her hair and enthusiastic gold jewelry caught the light. We greeted each other as we passed. Twenty minutes later, I saw her again, camera aloft, trying to capture her own vitality. I offered to take a few photos of her and she happily agreed. Ninety minutes later, our cars passed. I knew without question that it was the same woman: scarf and earrings and pendants twinkled in the setting sun.

Sunset over Sinepuxent Bay.

September 30:  Another sunset beckoned. I drove to a bayside channel favored by egrets, kayaks and, as it turns out, retirees. Four sets of us gathered to watch an enormous orange sun drop between clouds and carpet the water with its reflection. We talked about the careers we’d left behind and the adventures before us. We wondered what day of the week it was. In silence we watched the sun drop below the horizon and awaited the afterglow. We chatted a bit more and looked back toward the horizon. “No afterglow,” someone sighed. Someone else drew her finger around our impromptu circle. “I think this is our afterglow.”

Perhaps you’ll enjoy this comment from kind reader (and Singapore blogger) Ju-Lyn in response to my September 16 post — “I love that you braved the downpour for your coffee & reading time! Reminds me of one of my children’s favourite books: Amy Hest’s In the Rain with Baby Duck … with the right footwear, the puddles were great fun!” Ju-Lyn’s comment invites me to wonder: What is your favorite children’s book or poem about the rain? Mine is:

Rain, by Robert Louis Stevenson

The rain is falling all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.

This curious fellow visited me at the beach today. I didn’t need a zoom lens to capture its image. One of my new friends (president of three Audubon chapters in upstate New York) told me without hesitation that it is a Ruddy Turnstone. Hmmm…. Maybe that will be my D&D name. 

Readers, to receive notifications by email each time I make a post, just scroll all the way down this page (next to the “word cloud”), look to the left and click on the black button that says “Join Me!” And if you think a friend might enjoy these, please share the Delight!

If you’d like to browse my past essays, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. I’m glad you’re here!

Surfer grafitti.

14 thoughts on “Delights: Sept. 24 to Sept. 30

  1. You have just made my Friday morning! I am so thrilled to appear in your post, and that Baby Duck has brought your memory of Stevenson’s rain poem. Such fun!


  2. Sounds like a lovely week. Beautiful sunsets and getting to the beach….

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I couldn’t get past your very first entry before responding – I am so taken by total sensorial experience you captured. I have always found the buzzing of bees a little alarming initially, but soporific if I am installed safely out of their path. And I am sitting right in your tapestry, basking in the delight of the morning.


    1. A note of explanation – I have returned today to re-read your post (as I often do as your Delight contains so much I need repeated readings).

      P/S Did you mean to include images of the paintings on your Sep 25 entry?


      1. Hmmm. Thank you so much for calling that to my attention, Ju-Lyn. I’ll solve that problem. And visit again, if you can. The images are wonderful.


      2. I certainly will – as mentioned before, your posts warrant many a visit as there are so many gems!


      3. I am back to view the artwork. I so love Jeff Donaldson’s “Wives of Sango” – I googled the work and found that it is also a Yoruba legend, and there’s a whole story to all of this. Oh my gosh! So exciting! I love myths & folk tales, and a re-telling has begun to spin in my head! God of Fire, Lightning & Thunder …. really stuff that legends are spun off! And that painting – the postures, the colours, the scattering of shapes …. wow.

        I wonder how the Little Girl would have responded if the answer to her question was “No”.


    2. Oh, the poetry (and kindness) of your words, Ju-Lyn. I’m thrilled my words transported you: your powerful imagination and openness of life’s experiences did all the rest.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Dear Ju-Lyn — The rungs of our “comment ladder” have gotten mixed up (CAS user error), so I’ll note that I am replying to your rich October 6 comment. You googled Wives of Sango! That’s another reason I so appreciate you: you find threads of gold in a cotton cloth and start to wonder…. I’ll do a little research myself and bring your idea forward in my next post. AND I’ll ask the question you posed: for me, yes, I think the wind would have blown away my Little Girl’s deep pride and sense of infinite possibility. Too sad, too often.


    1. Thank you, friend. Love right back to you.


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