Whisper On a Breeze

Whisper On a Breeze by Mary M Reid

  The soft glow of the sun casts its light across the clear waters of Wasaga Beach. The calming rhythmic hum of the water at dawn reflects in the tranquil temperament of the birds resting along the shore. White waves creep to the shoreline, bringing deposits of new sand with them then retrieving for more. In some places along the waters edge, spots of seaweed accompany the sand.

  The early morning shades of soft blues, pinks, and golds fill the sky. A few feathery clouds scatter randomly makes for a serene tableau any artist would relish capturing. A light cool breeze flows from the Georgian Bay to the land, and with it the freshness of the start of another day.

  A seagull welcomes the morning as it takes flight in harmony with the breeze, hovering over the shoreline for its next meal. Spotting it just beneath the water’s surface, it gracefully swoops down and in one motion, grabs the unsuspecting fish. As it lifts into the blue sky with meal in beak and its kin now in pursuit, it heads to the sands where it possesses, shares, fights over the morning’s catch. Together their squawks and wails echo across the expanse of the beach in a symphony of cacophony. Early morning beach strollers pause to admire the behaviors of the seagulls.

  And as they have been doing all week, George and Louise join in the excitement, their long leash freeing them temporarily from restraint. Birds finding repose on the beach are forced into the air as the canines’ approach with their yelps and determination. Their paws dig into the sand, sending it air bound with each charge as they, the pursuers, aim directly for the birds. The seagulls appear to be enjoying the chase. A time to stretch their wings and practice their aim. From the air they dive close to the dogs, inches away from their snouts, then reaching back up into the sky where they circle their pursuers, perhaps wailing, victory.

  Josephine, or Jo to her husband, smiles at the sight. She pulls her cell phone from the back pocket of her shorts and takes several pictures in rapid succession. Her phone is filled with the antics of George and Louise, and upon her return to work, she’ll pull it out and proudly show off to coworkers her dogs’ adventures. She grins at the thought. The memories of this morning, this week, will fill her with comfort and relaxation each time she reminisces on them, and until next summer when they can return.

  By late afternoon they will be on the road, travelling back to the city and their hectic lives; she a head nurse, he a chief administrative officer. But for a few hours more, they get to experience together this incredible moment of their lives.

  “Those crazy dogs,” says Bert, his words fill with fondness as they look at the pictures. “One day they might actually catch a seagull, then what?” A chuckle escapes him. He shakes his head and glances at his wife. She turns the camera on him, and snaps away. He raises his hand to hide his face and abruptly turns his back to her.

  “You’ll crack the lens.” A common remark of his.

  But it’s too late, she has several good pictures of him. His brown tanned complexion, broad-shoulders, dreamy hazel eyes, perfectly shaped bald head, and wrinkles in all the right places. Time has been good to him as he ages. At sixty-two, he has the body of a forty-year-old and can compete with one if he had to. His mind is sharp, clever, and creative. His personality remains thoughtful, kind, jovial. Thirty-one years later and she’s still in awe at this person standing so close to her. She smiles at the images.

  He reaches to take the phone from her, but she pulls it teasingly behind her back. “Let’s take one together,” she offers, he agrees. “Turn our backs to the water, I wanna’ capture the beauty of the sky with all its colors before it changes.”

  Bert draws her slender body close, his forehead resting next to hers. She’s a couple inches shorter than him, with an ebony skin tone, captivating dark eyes that always seem to smile, salt and pepper long braids tied back with a floral scarf, and pouty lips that are even more attractive if she sulks.

  “On three.” She snaps just after two. 

  “Hey, you said on three. I wasn’t ready,” Bert mildly protests.

  “I meant snap on three not after I say three.” She smirks and tilts her eyes up at him.

  He shakes his head, draws her back close to his body and gently places a kiss on her cheek. He loves the easy way she teases him. “Let’s see what I look like. We might have to redo it, but this time let me take the picture. ”

  She flips to the picture, and both are without words. The image is picture perfect, even though he wasn’t ready. In the background, George and Louise are captured in their futile attempt. George, with all four legs off the ground, leaping into the air. Louise reaching up on her hind legs, her mouth ajar. And a seagull inches away. Jo makes a mental note to print and frame a copy.

  “Do you still want to retake it?”

  “No, you’re the photographer,” he responds sheepishly. “This is such a beautiful place, I don’t think anyone can ever take a bad picture, ready or not.”

  “This place is absolutely beautiful!” She turns to soak it in. “So serene! Just gazing at that sky and listening to the soft rustle of the water is a stress reliever. Of all the places we’ve travelled to, this is absolutely my favorite,” she comments.

  “Mine too,” he murmurs.  “And I think George and Louise would agree with us.”

  He draws her back close to him as they look out upon the beach. The seagulls have increased in numbers over the waters, beach lovers are laying down their towels, a few choosing a morning dip in the cool water before it’s warmed by the sun, and another dog joins George and Louise who have lost interest in the seagulls.

  Jo presses her head deep into Bert’s shoulder and pulls his arms tightly around her waist. “I wish we could stay here forever.” Her whisper sails on the breeze.

  He breathes in slowly and deeply, his chest rising, “Soon my dear, soon.”