My sleepless nights are punctuated with frequent trips to the bathroom, my diligent adherence to that staple of healthy living, hydration, is paying fabulous renal dividends.  My kidneys wake me with a distant, siren call, far off in slumber land, “bathroom, bathroom, where are you?” Dutifully obeying my body’s demands, I glance at the clock, arise from the creaky double bed, and with my best church mouse impression, try not to awaken my partner. Answering Mother Nature’s call, floating from the bed, I am struck, overwhelmed actually, with the flood of color that cradles the harbor, and envelopes our little cottage this early morning. The pinkish orange glow of the sky, like clouds of cotton candy, piled softly high.  The sugary sweetness of that confection no match for the sweet spirit warming me in this photographic moment.

Our little summer rental cottage sits facing the harbor of Provincetown, the same harbor where those religious radicals two centuries ago parked their ship and set out to subjugate the natives.  We pay dearly for this harbor view, but would shell out our retirement accounts to be here, in this place, we love it so. This view is undeniable, awe-inspiring, I would say peaceful but it is more than that. If the entire world could soak in this place, this town, “peaceful” would birth world peace, I really believe that.  When I sit here on the deck overlooking the harbor early in the morning with a fresh, piping hot cup of North Woods Nectar, known as coffee to most, the flood of creative energy, thought, color, life, fills me with hope.  Often when I write, I am barely able to put pen to paper with the rapidity by which thoughts are given to my mind, my spirit. This riot of color ushering in a glorious new day basks me in her warm glow, and inspires the writer within. Perhaps it’s not the creative energy pulsing through me, more likely it’s the second cup of Joe and I’m wired! I have been a succinct person my entire life.  But the writing process for me is usually an exercise in trying to write everything that comes to me, like a watershed, and to stay on track with the story that is brewing at that moment.  It comes in bursts, thoughts, ideas, and images. The taste and texture of words in my mouth, like the first bite of the spun sugar confection, effusing an airy sweetness only to evaporate with the warmth of my palate.

A new day is dawning, filled with hope and relaxed anticipation.  Sitting on the deck, overlooking the harbor, it is truly a cotton candy sunrise.