Today was one of those astonishingly perfect days that you store in your memory banks for the darker, less special days of life…
It was cold on waking, with soft fog catching on rocky crenellations in the river gorge and a magic vapour rising from the sea. It looked as if it would burn to a clear autumnal blue – it’s a cornflower blue shade; my favourite kind of blue actually.
It’s our fortieth wedding anniversary on 27th March, and my husband had asked me for weeks, what I would like? I’m not into jewelry (how much can one wear?), I am not mad on cars (4 wheels gets me from A-B. Why does the brand matter?) and I have God’s Gift of a playground on my doorstep, so holidays away mean nothing.
I think in his heart he knew what would give me the greatest of all pleasure and so he loaded the car with boating stuff, chivvied me out the door with thermos and bikkies and we pootled across satin smooth water to Maria Island.
We were the only people around.
In one of the little coves, there was a wonderful wooden yacht anchored but no sign of life and so we kept a respectful distance.
We once again remarked that climbing Mount Maria is on our bucket list as we motored slowly across the shallows so I could lean over and look through seaweed at fish.
And we watched the lightest breeze play games.
Did you know the breeze has holes in it? It’s never just a sweeping gush, there are moments of nothing in amongst something. When I was little and out on my grandfather’s yacht, I must have heard someone remarking on the breeze and I learned the word, and when I was floating round in the tender, I would notice calm patches where there was no breeze for no reason and I swiftly labelled it an Unbreeze, a term I’ve subsequently used in writing.
We anchored, had morning tea which was a packet of bikkies and a cuppa because not knowing that we were going out in the boat, I had no homemade goodies made (That’s tomorrow’s job – lemon slice and maybe lemon cookies. Easter needs the balance as it’s so filled with chocolate). The biscuits we ate were like a shot of morning coffee though – Timtams that are Martini Espresso. The kind of biscuit that makes one think one has died and gone to heaven!
We waded ashore and wandered on the ocean side of the island and I found odd flotsam washed up that deserved photographs.
Everything sparkled, even the sand.
And in the spirit of a writer thinking about their latest novel, I looked at the silver on the water, commenting that it was like a handful of silver dinars scattered around.
And then we decided to beat a gentle retreat as the breeze began to strengthen. My husband is ever mindful that my balance will now not tolerate much more than 10 knots, with as little swell as possible. I just put my feet up and let him take us home – with a grin on my face like the Cheshire Cat!
This glittering day on the water celebrates our coming anniversary like nothing else could. I’m truly grateful and well content!
That sounds like the perfect day Prue. Happy 40th Anniversary for you and your beloved next week. <3 <3 (its our 40th next year)
Its wonderful to take flasks and have a cuppa in a beautiful place…. have flask will travel 🙂 Love to you both xx
Thank you, Libby. We’re very much flasks and picnic people!
Nice day, wonderful memory. Thank you for sharing. We had a perfect spring snow yesterday. It filled our evergreens out back with white powder. The sky at noon was what I would call robin’s egg blue and it melded perfectly with the snow on green. The delicious fresh air was not pushed by winds. The temperature was warm enough for me to enjoy my walk in flannel sleeves. My walk was long enough to be sacred and slow enough for my big thinking pipe to burn out and fail in its duty to keep my hands warm. I walked faster to home as the sun dropped behind the birch trees on the Smith farm and in so doing earn a few of Elaine’s fresh baked cookies and a cup of New England coffee.
A day that was perfect in its spontaneity, Wes.
Thank you Prue. Your enthusiasm for life and writing keep me cooking. Respect.
Happy Anniversary and many more.
Thanks so much, Pat. Those 40 years have flown…