While almost drifting off to sleep I had a sudden flashback to that land of sun and honey, of that sparkling balcony and stunning privacy back two weeks' past in Hilton Head. It's very rare indeed when a Hilton Head trip is immediately followed by such gloomy, cool weather since we go south in either June or August. But this year it's been different, very cool and constantly rainy, annoying as a buzzing mosquito who seems to have a lot of mosquito friends. Swat one and another comes. It has made the adjustment to non-vacation reality more whiny but, as the Psalmist says, "clouds of the sky, praise the Lord!"
On the edge of sleep I remembered a minor thing, infinitely minor: the casual tossing of a blanket on the chair next to the television in the seaside condo. But it was like I was there again, there in that place filled with such privacy and wonder, there where I had time to sit and think, to read and drink. As Heather King recently wrote, beehive huts are conducive to thinking. (And maybe SC beach condos too.)
Indeed part of this reverie was no doubt prompted by another wonderful HK post about the desirability of remote Irish beehive huts, and how they would be great places to spend with a breviary and a stack of poetry.