There is a quiet shift happening.
The suitcases aren’t packed yet,
but I can feel the turning.
Soon, we will return to Wisconsin.
To seasons that bite for a while still before the bloom.
To thawing lakes instead of ocean waves.
To a different rhythm.
But before we go —
I need to pause.
I need to say thank you.
What a gift it has been to be here.
To wake each morning and walk toward the bay
To breathe in air softened by salt and eucalyptus.
To let the sky stretch wide above me,
uncomplicated and generous.
These morning walks became more than exercise.
They became prayer.
They became listening.
They became noticing.
I wrote a poem about those walks.
About the way the light met the water.
About how the sky held everything
without trying to control it.
And then, as sometimes happens,
the poem began to hum.
Words found melody.
Steps found rhythm.
Breath became song.
The ocean has a way of doing that —
turning observation into offering.
Today I’m sharing that song with you.
It carries the hush of early morning,
the widening horizon,
the gentle insistence that each day is a beginning.
As we prepare to leave, I don’t feel loss as much as layering.
Wisconsin is not a departure from this place.
It is the next verse.
I need to find morning walks there too —
different skies, different winds,
different lessons.
Stillness instead of surf.
But the same invitation to
Notice.
Breathe.
Begin again.
Gratitude travels well.
It doesn’t require an ocean view.
So I carry this season with me —
the color of the water at dawn,
the way the clouds part without argument,
the reminder that rhythms continue whether I cling or release.
Thank you, California mornings.
Thank you for the song.
Soon we’ll turn toward Wisconsin —
not leaving light behind,
but carrying it home.
Tranquil Resources 