The sun's setting and I realize we've lived here for more than a month, and this is the first time we've done this. The first time we've had our evening coffee on the beach.
And it's peaceful. We're alone. Except for the wind. It's pretty strong and we suspect it'll get stronger.
We sit on top of a picnic table and watch the pelicans crash into the gulf, fishing. First one, then another. And a woman walks by.
She stops to chat. About birds. We see a V-line of birds fly by and a lone cormorant brings up the rear. The woman delights in this. We talk birds and dogs and in the midst of our conversation another couple drops by. They pull a picnic table alongside ours and sit there, along with us, watching the pelicans dine. We talk about kayaking, RVing, coffee, islands and New Orleans.
Soon, the first lady leaves and is replaced by a man, this one with a dog. We talk dogs, rescues and the wind. We're suppose to get 7-foot waves tonight, he says. Unusual. For here.
Soon, two more people walk up from the beach and I notice the sun is gone. And so is our coffee. And so is our peace. Because it's more like a party out here. Because where it was just me and Allen a few minutes ago, is now all these people, along with the birds, the waves and the wind.