Saturday Mornings Remain A Treat Or Should I Say Retreat?

Saturday Mornings Remain A Treat Or Should I Say Retreat?

It's quiet now, just me and what I'm thinking.  Saturdays when I arise before the rest and the business of this busy day has not yet been declared.  It feels just as true as it did when I was working.  A brief respite, a quiet cup of coffee, with no other obligation.  Sure, I can go out and get the paper.  For someone else to read, nothing's urgent to me at moments like this.

I'd rather sit and look about, watching water roll back to our inlet, wondering where it's been this time since the tide rolled it out some hours ago.  Is it the same water now, just back from a visit to the Sound?  I can't see how it would be kept together once it went into the Sound.  Even the creatures that inhabit these waters may not wind up here in the same place when the great force of the tide pushes the sea back in.   They could have spent their entire lives until today out in the Sound, or in some other inlet not so far away.  Today they'll spend in ours.  I imagine they feel as if they are sheltered here in our shallow space.  Here, the sun warms them, and there are no waves to toss or push or pull them this way and that.  Things are calm and peaceful, do they enjoy this sort of day and place.

Oh, they may be eaten by something larger, caught by larger creatures of the Sea--we've spotted dolphins feeding in our inlet--more than once a mother and its young.  Perhaps places like this are where they're taught to hunt for food.

The creatures washed in here by the tides might be even be caught by people fishing from the occasional bateaux that float in and cast their bait.  For most this will only be a misadventure--once caught, they're quickly released.   Released because they exceed a size limit for their species, or a bag limit for the fisherman, or simply because the fisherman values more the catching of the fish, not taking it home as food.  But today's chillier than most, so the fishermen will be scarce.  

If they escape all that hunting going on during this day, then they'll once again wash out to sea, perhaps never to return.  We believe these creatures lack a consciousness, so they don't think about where they've been or where they're going, they just exist.  Like some humans (perhaps all of us at some times) living without reflection, just plodding through their days.  But what if they have this consciousness?  What do they think of these daily visits?  Do they look forward to new places, or do they long to return here to our small space, where they can rest, a retreat for some who might just enjoy these visits like I do a quiet Saturday morning.