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Published: October 6th 2017
Chapter Four: Red Sky at Morning
Both students of sunrises, we seldom sleep late enough to miss one. Today is no exception. But It is still dark beneath a nearly full moon when we, in our waffle robes, stroll down our short dock to look up in the hope of seeing stars and we are, in patches at least, rewarded. The water is crystal clear and only about two feet deep, light green over a sandy bottom punctuated by dark green patches over vegetation.
Perhaps unfortunately, the dawn’s sky is red. Often heard is the saying: “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” Upon what is that unattributed saying based? If morning skies are red it is because the sun is peeking through a gap of clear sky on the horizon beneath clouds above the horizon. Clouds often contain moisture and occur above low pressure. The saying assumes that, since weather normally moves from west to east, from the west more clouds are following the ones now alit by the morning sun. More clouds, more low pressure, more likelihood of weather, more likelihood of rain.
we are discussing this topic, red sky at night presumes that the end of the cloudy weather is to the west with the sunset peeking through clear skies or higher pressure.
Anyway, we have red skies this morning. Casa Brisa lives up to its name as there is a constant and quite pleasant breeze from the north apparent on our veranda and in the shallow waters to our east which maintain a light chop.
Our electronic devices easily pick up strong Wi-Fi and that means we lack the discipline to be able to escape news of the world. The death toll from the Las Vegas Mandalay Bay sniper attack has grown to 58 dead and more than 500 wounded. Our political leaders suggest that our thoughts and prayers be with the families of those hurt or killed. My thoughts and prayers go, instead, to Congress urging them to buck the National Rifle Association and pass common sense steps to begin the process of reducing our mutual threat from rampant gun proliferation. Nicholas Kristof, writing in this morning’s New York Times, points out that “since 1970, more Americans have died from guns (including suicides, murders
and accidents) than the sum total of all Americans who died in all the wars in American History, back to the American Revolution.” I write this: It is time for another American revolution aimed at ridding the nation of all automatic and semi-automatic weapons and high capacity ammunition magazines, keeping all guns out of the hands of mentally unstable individuals by any and all means necessary through universal background checks, repeal of the Dickey amendment of 1996 which forbids the Center for Disease Control to spend funds to advocate or promote gun control, and more. Simply put, I fear our crazy fellow armed citizens more than I fear my government—even today’s government. That’s saying something.
Our pot brews early morning coffee that is hot but not strong. We sit next to our plunge pool, having relocated our table just a bit, to enjoy the early morning quiet. At 7:30, I pick up the walkie-talkie to request our fruit and juice and it soon appears along with a request for our breakfast order from a published menu in the room service binder. I opt for an omelet and B4
chooses as crepe. Both would
be better if, when they arrived, they were hot.
A score or more of fishing boats pass us taking their fares to nearby fishing grounds. Many anglers are drawn here for bonefish, tarpon, snook, jack and more that teem in these warm and shallow waters. At about the same time, the first Island Air and Maya Air flights can be seen and heard in the over-water distance as the San Pedro Town airport comes to life.
The skies clear over us while Carlos and Flavio bring out the various accoutrements of Cayo Espanto life: towels, mattress-like pads for chaise lounges, a hammock, etc. The sun maintains watch over the partly cloudy skies casting alternating dark and light on our paradise. B4
finishes her ‘Red Sparrow’ book and immediately launches into the sequel, ‘A Palace of Treason.’ She has become a major Jason Matthews fan. I assume she will pause at 10:00 because that is when her masseuse, Diani, arrives at Casa Brisa.
I have shifted the Bluetooth audio from Corrine Bailey Rae to Craig Chaquico to Danny Wright to The Eagles and, to mourn his passing overnight, Tom Petty.
Petty sings, “Now I’m free” and it means something very different at this hearing. The waves of passing boats somehow manage to keep time to the beat of the music; I cannot figure out how that can be but it somehow is.
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