We left and began walking before the Sun had arisen. Didn’t really know what the surf would be like, but we knew there would be surf and that we were going. Zach and I cover many of the same topics and territory when we make our trek to the ocean. However, if you are not a club member, I cannot share the minutes of our conversations. Craig often makes it into the meetings, but other than that it’s a pretty exclusive team.
By the time we made it to the water, the Sun had not yet risen, but the horizon was glowing. When we did our middle-aged man stretching routine, akin to squatting on haunches and looking at the bottom row of a store, rotating arms in sockets like we are passionate about getting a plane down the runway, we started the paddle out. We made it to the outside after a light paddle. The equivalent of burning the calories of 15 french fries, we were able to see.
The entire panorama was surreal in its beauty, and it wasn’t lost on Zach. Zach’s a painter, I’m a writer. Together we could do what we saw the justice it deserves. However, I work alone so here it is in my version of prose.
To the north, the south, and the west were storms. Only around us to the east was a clear space where nature was putting on a meteorological show. One needn’t be able to paint or write prose yet rather be reasonably skilled at tracing when Nature is this forthcoming and bounteous. Large columns of clouds with blues and pinks began to flex as the Sun ascended. Quite a few mornings I’d walk to see the sunrise with my girlfriend Janna, and there would be a distant cloudwall on the horizon the Sun would have to scale before lighting the world. Not today. Today it was like curtains opening and introducing The Sun on a stage built of blue, green, yellow and pink. The fin of a dolphin rising from its wet world only to sink and disappear. That happened. I promise. Flagler getting drenched to the south by a slow gray column, and we were bookended by the same to the north as Jacksonville received its share.
Zach and I each catching all the waves as were the only ones out. But this is the moment. The Sun was now fully above the Atlantic, and that was the moment when my wave of the day was sent. Obliging, I dropped in on my wave and was painted in the low, early morning, golden light. A couple turns on the face, a lip smack and nose walk to catch the inside section. I’m at peace and yet want another, and another. Waves are like dollars–you always want another.
In between sets, Zach and I point out some scenes that would be worthy of a painting. Zach could do it, but not this guy. If we lived 200 years ago we would hold a Claude Glass into the air and get the other to see Nature framed in the reflection. As the slow gray wall moved from the south to the west now, a single rainbow connected the sky to the ground.
