Island holiday – diary post #3. Mudge Meditations

Last night, after supper, we went back to the beach to watch Tuesday get tucked in. The sun dipped behind a ridge and went to bed like it has done every night since the beginning of time – no fuss, no muss – just a final burst of color and then the lights went out.

This morning we got up early to watch the sunrise. My husband handed me a cup of coffee and we waited for Wednesday to arrive. There was such a hush over the world we felt we had to whisper lest we scare the new day away.

The sun was tentative to start – slowly inching up behind the trees, I think betting we would blink and miss the moment of its surprise attack (a strategy as old as time). I’ve witnessed a few risings in my day, I’m up on the tactics of the sun – the surprise was lost on me, but the awe was not. It was like the world was holding its breath for the cresting moment. Then the birds broke into song and the gulls called their welcome. A new day was born, and we had witnessed its birth.

We will follow our tracks back to Vancouver this afternoon; the truck, the boat, the car, the plane – and nostalgia will be right on my tail. Mudge has pulled off her own surprise attack. Like a tide sneaking up the beach, Mudge has inched into my heart – I love this place.

Mudge is a meditation – a series of mellow moments that beckon you to a place you might have visited just before sleep. It is relaxing and reflective, it inspires a deep breath. The day shines off the water and whispers in the breeze. The herons give a master class on patience from the water’s edge. I feel like I’ve been here forever and have only just arrived in the same beat of my heart. I’m both young and old like the beach before me – each day a little different, more evolved and fresh with the dawn.