Some Calm Amidst The Storms

I have to admit, this vacation has not been, so far, the least stressful trip we’ve ever taken. The worry and precautions we have to take because of COVID are bad enough, but then we had to deal with days and nights of agonizing election coverage – hardly conducive to relaxation and recuperation. And now we have a tropical storm/hurricane bearing down on us, heading straight toward our peaceful little island.

So you could say there is a bit more tension and anxiety here with us, the very things we come down here to escape. The real world is not supposed to intervene here in paradise, posing problems and decisions and disturbances.

But no matter the added stress, our one constant calming influence is looking out over the (so far) peaceful Gulf waters and watching the pelicans dive bombing for fish and the dolphins going about their lives out there and spreading their joy to us.

I’ve seen a lot of dolphins through the years, mostly glimpses of their dorsal fins and backs breaking the water at a distance off North Carolina’s Atlantic beaches. But here, from our vantage point on the 14th floor with a panoramic view of the Gulf, we can often see dozens of them – and they are entertaining, spectacular and mesmerizing.

They occasionally wander close to shore in search of breakfast, lunch or supper – often just 10 feet or so from water’s edge (there are rarely waves of any significance here). Looking down from above, they are a beautiful sight to behold. And when the mood strikes them, they leap high out of the water, often in pairs, just like the old Sea World shows. (Google tells me that they do this for a variety of reasons, including communication, breathing, getting a better view of things like where birds are diving for fish, ridding themselves of parasites, and just for the hell of it because it’s fun.)

They’re equally impressive from beach level, particularly when they are swimming closer to shore than many of the humans swimming in the waters or the kayakers or the paddle boarders or boaters. We were sitting on the beach the other day when we spied some small fins a dozen or so feet out, prompting some nearby bathers to make a mad dash for shore. Turns out it wasn’t a small dolphin but a manta ray, perhaps two or three feet in diameter, and it was its wingtips breaking the water that we were seeing. Unlike the the stingray that caused me such pain earlier, mantas do not have a poisonous barb in their tail. He was just gliding along in the clear water, oblivious to the panic and enjoyment he was simultaneously providing.

So, while we await our latest anxiety-inducing storm clouds on the horizon, we try to maintain our serenity and tranquility by embracing the example of the creatures of the sea, who calmly care not a whit for our world but who make us care so much for theirs.