It snowed at the beach on Friday, just in time for my annual weekend with the writers.
We stayed at a hotel on the Virginia Beach oceanfront, where we laughed and ate and sat around in our pajamas as we read to each other and critiqued chapters from works-in-progress.
All the while, it was so cold outside that Friday’s snow couldn’t melt.
Saturday afternoon I spent some time on our icy balcony, trying to photograph cormorants, seagulls, and dolphins.
Clouds raveled and gathered again, the sun came and went, and the ocean flickered from gray to green to blue.
All day Saturday the surface looked silky and smooth, but Sunday morning’s high tide rumpled it into restless wrinkles.
After I got home, I felt restless, too. Uncertain of how to proceed from here. The weekend was so perfect, and the house was so warm, and I was indescribably happy.
How could I ever want more than what I have right now? More than these comforts and luxuries I am so grateful to have known?