The crowds are gone; the crowds will come again.
September in Ephraim is the serenity of early mornings and the anticipation of October’s blazing beauty. On Labor Day evening (no finer time in all the year) I sit on the beach alone, basking in beauty and gratitude. The gentle shush, shush of the passing southbound cars on 42 is echoed in the soft shush, shush of the small breaking waves on the sand.
Tomorrow, the exodus from our condominium building will begin. Slowly, reluctantly, cars will be packed and slip away to Illinois, Minnesota, Georgia, Arizona. Each autumn it becomes more bittersweet. With each year added to the 70 and 80-plus behind us, the question of return looms larger than ever before. Will cancer win its relentless battle, will dementia destroy the sweetness, will a silent assassin waiting patiently in someone’s body come to life?
This, the quiet time in Ephraim, is more than anything a time of reflection; of awareness and appreciation of the blessedness of this place.
This small group of residents is united in its love of this sacred spot. We know how lucky we are.