Folly Beach

 September 3, 2023

Sharp, distinct smell of marijuana from the condo next door.

Folly Beach, my least favorite and most frequented resort. Fourth floor, near the western end of the building. The sun rose this morning in the exact spot where the copper moon rose last night. The difference is that the sun is blazing, unendurable , spearing off the gray waters, whereas the moon was a necromancer in mysterious red, making his own pale path across the waters. Bill and DJ thought the saw UFOs. We watched satellites pass, noting the abundance of them. I recalled standing on the Evans’ front lawn in Tallmadge, watching Sputnik hurry over in the late twilight, knowing what it was because it was the only one.

Surfing, wading, walking of dogs, sweeping of metal detectors across the sand.

Dolphins sighted at breakfast (ours).

Went to the beach and played in the surf among the weekend throngs. Threw escaping balls back to the hands of boys. Everybody was happy. Maybe invite our warring factions to the beach and give them water wings and let them play until it’s all worked out. Fathers and mothers teaching their young to swim, holding them so they fear nothing of the ocean. I walked to the end of the pier and back. Nobody was catching anything. The grackles gossiped. During our night vigil on the balcony we saw a tremendous meteor, blazing white at the head, its tail an improbable emerald green. It was so vivid and glorious I thought it was a firework, but it was not. Seconds later a duller one burst in the same part of the sky. We watched for a long time, hoping for a third.

Ironically, the task now, in South Carolina in September, is to keep from freezing during the night in the air-conditioned condo. I dreamed last night of trying to keep winged cats from overwhelming my house.