The Rainy Day

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She had spent little time at the ocean in her life. Now she had the chance to spend some time at the water. Any ocean, all oceans, renewed her. More than renewed her, sustained her. Today it was raining, the beginning of monsoon season. There had been a terrible drought all winter. They were all glad to see the rains come, as long as the wind didn’t follow. She started to stay home, to spend the day writing. She wanted to see the bay in the rain.

She grabbed her poncho and jumped in the car. The pier was about 12 miles away.  That was the best place to see the bay. When she pulled up to the pier, no one was there but her. The rain was softly falling. She walked out almost to the gates beyond which only the fishermen went and sat down on the edge. The water was almost perfectly clear. The rain beat on the surface of the water.

She could clearly see the schools of fish. Most of them she still couldn’t identify. She knew the sheepshead. She saw a school of snook. One of her goals for the winter was to learn more about the fish in the area. That area under the pier was shallow. There was a great flapping of wings and a swoosh behind her. One of the large white egrets had landed on the pier and a great blue heron was a couple of dozen feet away.

The sky was as gray as granite and the bay was just barely whitecapping as she looked on out. Her heart rate slowed and the tightness in her chest loosened. She was at peace.

An hour or so later, she started for home, feeling better. She was always so tense until she saw the ocean. She hoped she could capture her feelings on paper. When she got home, she sat down with a steaming cup of tea and started to write. The scene she was trying to write before she left, and that was escaping her, flowed easily from her fingertips.

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