I was away for the weekend, drove over four hours to be overnight with my niece and her child for Canada Day. She lives in a small town and the day was celebrated with races, one of which was a dory race. All these lovely dories raced each other to the cheers of the onlookers. Everyone knew everyone else. Service in an old restaurant was almost non-existent. But the tables knew other tables and the view was so breathtaking that words fail me to describe it. I'll try.
Across the bay, which is filled with small islands called "The Turtles" there is a cloud of fog masking part of the hill and floating above this fog is an old white clapboard church, its round windows sparkling in the sunshine.
We waited and waited for service and it eventually comes, without apology. It is the pace of the place. My Toronto mind wants to say something about lost marketing opportunitues (on this festival day they had run out of everything apart from fresh bread and bologna). But I don't. I gaze out at the view and I eat the bologna (which I never normally touch)as I am hungry and I am grateful for it and for these magnificent surroundings and the friendliness of the tables in the restaurant. And I struggle with my verbal inadequacy for this incredible vista.
I get back here later tonight and walk the dog along the shore and words fail me again. The bay is silver, the puffy clouds bunched up on the horizon are a pale grey and leaking through them is a shade of lemony pink I've never seen before and it slowly swirls into the bay and tints all around me in this gentle glow.
And I feel blessed to be a solitary witness to this sight.
Yet I long to share it. And I try not to think of the number of sleeps left before R gets here and can share some of this with me. I really want to live in the moment and not while away life thinking of what could be, of the possibilities. And I marvel that we can talk for hours and hours on the phone and that he wants to spend one of our days just making sandcastles and moats on the beach. It is almost too good to be true and I want to put brakes on my excited anticipation of it all. I am scared. Words fail me again. Why?
(Picture is one of a dory I took last summer, thanks Nick)
