An Inclement Observation

            Awakening before the newspaper arrives with the daily crossword puzzle, before

the streetlights dim, before the coffee maker embarks upon its automatic perk, I mark

time. The clock ticks. There is no one lying next to me. There is no arm flung across my

breast, nor is there a leg slung across my thigh. I am alone. It is my own breathing I hear.

Only my heart beats–no other.

          I am an early riser–always have been. It’s not unusual to have my first cup of

coffee before five a.m. On this morning, I carry a cuppa out to the lanai. Lovely to see the

world awaken, but today is cold and rainy. A plop, plop of drops fall in a steady cadence

onto the concrete overhang of the lanai. Shivering, I wrap my palms around the steaming

mug to warm them. The wind howls in alternate directions. I feel the chilled dampness

through my terry robe; nevertheless I’m somehow comforted by its coziness.

          This is often a time of quiet reflection. Looking down the boulevard to the south, I

would see street lights gradually disappear as the sky becomes lighter. No cars, then a

few, and suddenly we’re graced with the motorized march of the employed. The lights

pop off one by one like stars vanishing at dawn’s earliest light. The heavens gift me with

a slow motion explosion of gray, teal, pink, mauve. Not today. It’s dank, dismal,

bordering on grim.

          From the twelfth floor, I glance to the boulevard below and notice street lamps lit

beyond their normal expiration. Today the cars creep–their wipers executing a slow

dance to a bored, syncopated rhythm, and the occupants within, no doubt bored as well;

drumming impatient fingers against their steering wheels–unless they’re tuned to Howard

Stern, texting, or schmoozing on their cells.

          Looking toward the Gulf, there are no boats to be seen, no horizon to gauge the

distance. Normally, the beach would be an ongoing parade of walkers, runners, shell-

gatherers, and lovers still in their morning afterglow. No one it seems, has the fortitude

to venture out on an un-Florida-like morning such as this. Not even my feathered pelican

friends who acknowledge me often with their aerodynamic salute as they fly directly

toward my screen in a drill-like military formation, only to veer to the right at the last

possible moment.

          Today, the Gulf is a vast expanse of dreary, gunmetal gray. No crashing waves, just

a steady succession of rolling undulations, each ending in a frothiness, slathering its icing

against the shore–scrabbling at the sand with long dribbling fingers, then dragging a

universe of particles back into its wetness.

          Suddenly, I catch sight–barely, of a lone figure. That of a man struggling with

effort against the wind, hunkered from the drizzle, tugging his jacket altogether with

pant legs rolled up to the knees, and wading mid-calf in the frigid water. I watch him

trudge slowly, painstakingly in the knee-high swells, making a gigantic effort to remain

upright. As he passes, I notice the drab clothing, albeit atop his head, a striped stocking

cap in garish colors. Strange. Incongruous. Why, I ask myself is he out in such weather?

I want desperately to shout “For God’s sake–what are you thinking?” I remain silent.

Then a thought…perhaps this is for ‘God’s sake’.

          Head bent, he plods on, becoming small, smaller, until merely an exclamation point

in the distant inky gloom…

                                                                                                                               Jan Chapman

                                                                                                                               January, 2012