Winter Solstice 2013

"Winter Solstice 2013" - a reading (on YouTube)

We open our eyes to a pale reflection in pink and orange. A long, gray wall of fog looms at the horizon like Hadrian's last defense. As the fog emerges from the soft gray light of dawn, we feel like distant lanterns, tiny candles floating aimlessly across the water.

A gray stillness settles outside as though the world has paused for breath. Through a misty haze, the daylight silvers as the morning ages. A faded white sun hangs motionless against the brushed platinum sky, a sun-bleached sun melting to moonrise by midafternoon.

As autumn deepens into winter, dappled sunlight brushes like mist against the screen until the fog melts into rain, washing the shadow from our minds. Droplets of air condense and run down its surface, filling the spaces in between like a memory of unfallen tears.

Fiery tendrils of the setting sun send steam drifting across the water and smoke swirling among the trees as fog coalesces from twilight. The golden fog burns along the horizon like the beacon of the Hermit's lantern guiding our way forward through another umbrageous day. Come evening spheres of silver, pink and gold hang below the streetlamps and house lights, iridescent ornaments in a nighttime world of fog.

Day by day, our ink fades a little further from the page until, one morning, nothing remains of each line of our lives but the shadow of a memory. This night, we light the sacred candles. In darkness we were born of fire. Small souls, at midwinter we return to ash, awaiting Brigid’s breath at Imbolc to be reborn. Another cycle lays behind us, craggy and arthritic yet complete, even as the next one beckons, her slender finger as pale and unblemished as the promise of the coming spring.

© 2013 Edward P. Morgan III

St. Joseph Peninsula State Park

Just before Thanksgiving, we made the seven hour trek up to Cape San Blas. We'd rented a cabin inside the park for the week. We stumbled into an open block and seized it. Getting reservations up there is always a trick. We hadn't been on a vacation away from home in over a year.

This was our third time staying up there. Since our last visit, they had added some counter space and a dishwasher to the kitchen, expanded the upstairs, removed a skylight and converted the fireplace over to gas. The cabins are a two-story, loft arrangement that sleep seven (as long as you're friendly), maybe 700 sq. feet total, with a screened in porch, a full kitchen and a short boardwalk down to the bay. They are away from pretty much everything, right next to miles of wilderness area that extends to the point of the peninsula. 

In the cabins there is no television, no telephone, no internet, no wi-fi and only spotty cell phone coverage at best. I think that's what we like about it. It forces us to slow down and disconnect. Hiking, reading, walking the beach, watching sunset and cooking become the highlights of our day. In four days, we hiked just over twenty miles. The fifth day was pretty much wind and rain. In our five full days up there, I finished three books (including the Night Circus) plus Beowulf. I sometimes forget how fast I can read when I allow myself blocks of uninterrupted time. We had a fire every evening. We listened to football games on AM radio (we couldn't even pull in NPR). In the past, we've played games. 

The park encompasses some of the best natural coastal complexes I've seen in Florida with white sand beaches backed by 20-30 foot dunes covered with a variety of native vegetation, including tons of sea oats. In late November, that also meant colorful fields of wildflowers in yellow (woody goldenrod?), white (salt myrtle), lavender (Texas sage? a native mint?) and red (holly berries). The wilderness area, which you now need to register with the rangers to enter, has a trail that runs seven and half miles out to the point. That's pretty much a full day. I think we've only ever made it four. For more ambitious people, there are wilderness campsites along the trail (the picture above is the view of the bay from wilderness campsite 3). The sunsets over the Gulf can be spectacular. On previous visits we've seen green flashes. And the nights are dark, dark, dark. As dark as either of us has seen with the exception of being at sea. With no real light pollution, the constellations and the Milky Way pop right out.

On the fauna side, we saw deer, bald eagles, hawks, osprey, herons, egrets, rays, and dolphin. We heard an owl hooting a couple nights in the nearby woods. On one of the windier days, we saw several herons and egrets perched high up in the pines. On our way to sunset one evening, we stumbled across a bobcat on the dunes, only the second I've ever seen in the wild. He quickly disappeared. We saw a kingfisher sitting on a wire overlooking the bay and a salt marsh. We've seen either him or his ancestors in that same spot each time we've visited. On the boardwalk by the bay, we watched several bald eagles calling, and one pair fighting. Another turned his head and banked to check us out more closely when he heard Karen's camera. I've never seen one do that. On the trail, we saw bobcat tracks and what we later learned were coyote tracks. On our last morning, I heard five deer chuffing a warning at a stand of trees beyond the porch. When we walked down to the beach, we saw more coyote tracks deerstalking. I assume he was the object of their ire. 

We drove home on Thanksgiving Eve, relaxed and detoxed in a way only slowing down and immersing ourselves in nature can for us. Unfortunately, we didn't encounter any roadside honey stands. On the last trip, we picked up two quarts of tupelo very cheap. The drive takes us through some of the poorest counties in Florida (including the poorest school district with only a single K-12 school). I think seeing so many burned-out, abandoned buildings is sometimes the most depressing part of the trip. There are days I dream of living in a more rural area that has more green to get some distance from our neighbors. Then I remember what the day-to-day reality of that looks like and think, maybe home is not so bad. 

Find more of Karen's pictures on Flickr (she plans to add more as she gets time). 

© 2013 Edward P. Morgan III