Sliding open wooden blinds to see what morning has brought 2,000 miles away and on an island in the Pacific.
Beginning of sunrise over lush mountainside, about to fill a thin slice of clear space between the mountain and cloud bank. Humid, warmth on skin previously covered by winter layers on the mainland’s Pacific Northwest.
Spot on small beach, calm salt water lagoon as my nature TV. Waves crashing over outer reef, water trickling over pond rocks. Three palm trees frame my view to the right, over lagoon. Blue sky, puffy clouds. Sun escapes its cloud lock, warms my skin to the bone. I turn my face to it like a sunflower and soak it in.
Breeze off Pacific picks up, palm frond leaves dancing like the chords inside an open-face piano. They all lean left, into direction of the wind, which will pick up later.
Breathe in air. Dry, but humid at same time. Clouds gentle, floating past the palms, collecting with fellow puffs under sun, drawn to the greater cluster inland.
Sand soft and fine, rocks and coral broken down to tiny pebbles and chunks. Lagoon’s resident fish a few Moorish idols, butterfly fish, an eel. Smaller fish darting between rocks. Tide comes in, turtles with it. Coming to feed, their fins flapping to balance as the waves recede back over reef.
This is why we leave our home nest to establish a temporary one for a week or two so we can take in all that an island has to offer – or just relax on the beach, absorbing as much vitamin D as possible for our serotonin-depleted Pacific Northwest bodies.