The shot above was taken from the rear of a boat off the coast of Captiva Island as a storm rolled in that afternoon. I did nothing to alter the photograph – and it’s not a black and white shot. It was just that menacing out, and we rocked and rolled on the water for the better part of an hour. There were a few dolphins charging behind us in our wake, but for the most part they stayed under and we stayed inside, trying to keep both our balance and our lunch within.
Moments later, back on land, the weather began to change for the better. The sun peeked out, the angry clouds rolled away and the streets and the sand dried up in that instantaneous way that only southern Florida can seem to pull off.
By the time we’d had a bite to eat and made our way back to the beach the sun was in out in full force and I’m quite sure the dolphins were jumping in figure eights and through fiery hoops in the back bay now that no one holding an expensive ticket in hand was watching.
And even later still, back at our own private little stretch of sand, the sunset streaked sky was at it again… and hey wait! Is that a dolphin jumping out in there in the surf??
And this is how our summer goes, and continues to go. This on again, off again cycle of storms and sun. No backyard barbecue, outdoor wedding, or evening stroll is safe from its beleaguering ways. We have more water than we need, yet it continues to come. Not in gentle showers, but with winds and flashes and booms. We live just twenty-one blocks from this mighty river – high enough to not have to worry but close enough to watch it creep up the shore and the legs of the bridges that cross it. Everyday there is a call to come to the aid of the next endangered town, and then the following day brings with it the announcement that the colossal effort was just not enough. One look at the river and it’s pretty apparent that she has a mind of her own. And she’ll continue to pulse and surge downstream for awhile yet, fueled again and again by these thunderous skies that never seem to pass.