He arrives in the early morning on his bicycle, on which he’s balancing a broom. Leaning his bike against a bench, he takes the broom and, at the start of each windy walkway onto the beach, begins to sweep the sand off of the boardwalk.

… for another couple

of weeks. Mr UD has

finished his semester,

the dog is off to the

kennel, and we are set

to leave.

Blogging continues,

as always, at the seaside.

… is always a drag. We will be back, for two weeks, in May/June.

Much excitement this morning as a huge whale circled in front of the beach, accompanied by dolphins and spouting like mad. Faithful readers know UD a few years ago practically walked into a seal relaxing on this shore. That was more than enough excitement; but now there’s her first whale-sighting. Gevalt.

So Early in the Spring

Sunrise Rehoboth

Psychedelic ocean and the gulls slate gray

A man prepares his tripod for blastoff

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Backstage the moon shot through with blue

Bows to the sun and gives way

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Where’s the pilgrim fellowship chanting in the sand?

The mournful Scottish bagpipe band?

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This morning all such worship comes down to me

Godless, with endless sacred symphony

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A young woman, walking on the boardwalk with a friend, suddenly shouted this yesterday. Mr UD was walking behind her, and reported the event back to UD.

We didn’t know the president would also be here, but, sitting on our balcony yesterday, we saw the tell-tale coast guard boats.

As for last evening, we looked up from our cell phones a little after eight to see an enormous clear golden moon casting a long silver line on the water. Later, as it whitened, the moon was bright, like the sun.

This morning was all pastels over the water, and UD walked the few steps to the new Cafe Reho, where she got breakfast to bring home to Mr UD. She also checked out CoWork Reho next door, where you can rent your own office with enormous ocean views.

… on the morning after a dark violent snowstorm, precisely how precise the beach, ocean, and sky are now. The effect one sometimes has in this apartment of being on an ocean liner is more intense than ever – there’s even a sense of motion.

The white of the breaking, spraying tide merges with the white of the snow on the little dunes, and, with a full sun and cloudless sky shedding light so strong I can’t get a good picture of it from the balcony (this is a picture from earlier this morning), it’s … what? Pearlescent?

As for what one consciousness feels gazing at it — I’m thinking of a line from Harold Brodkey’s memoir:

Perhaps you could say I did very little with my life, but the douceur, if that is the word, Talleyrand’s word, was overwhelming. Painful and light-struck and wonderful.

… between yesterday’s balmy afternoon walk, where we were surrounded by runners in shorts and tees, and this morning’s frigid visit to the balcony. Les UDs are in heaven; they want to see the coast in all its moods, and this is their first snowstorm at the beach.

Not quite as dramatic as our buddy Peter’s frigid experience — On December 7 he endured some of the world’s roughest Antarctic seas to sail to the total solar eclipse (and then it was too cloudy to see it). But pretty effing dramatic.

Pic doesn’t capture the wind whipping the snow horizontal.

… gazing at one of many 2022s scratched into the sand, and wishing his sister a happy new year.

View from our balcony.

… watched as a group of gray helicopters descended on the Rehoboth shore, while a Coast Guard boat idled on the ocean. Two of the copters landed on the parking lot at Gordons Pond State Park; one peeled off for the wild blue yonder.

For a little while, police guarded the entrance to the park, as Joe and Jill Biden arrived to celebrate Jill’s seventieth birthday.

… the sun comes out in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.