Sun, sand, sea oats

We have arrived at our destination, an old fashioned cinderblock hotel on the island. Our balcony overlooks a pool, a grassy yard accented with deck chairs, hammocks, and a grilling deck where last night several families were cooking and eating dinner. The ocean is at the end of the yard. Everything is brightly colored - the hotel is a loud aqua and white with a terracotta roof; bright yellow beach umbrellas shade the tables by the pool and grill/dining area. The ocean is blue, the sand taupe, and the grass is green if not lush. The front doors of our rooms are yellow, too.

Pure white with black heads, the laughing gulls line up along the roofline and do their loud screeching while the surf pounds in the background. It's calm out there this morning - this area is less rough than the area around Hatteras.

Last night we could just faintly make out the lighthouse's white flashes every 15 seconds and the green and red channel lights also blinked on the horizon. There was a lovely breeze in the evening, but it is still this morning.

Much has changed here, in that some of the hotels are gone and new ones have arrived. Places on the beach are hard to keep up - the humidity quickly rusts metal, people track in salt water and sand, hurricanes ravage the beach.

But much is the same. The sea oats on the dunes. The early morning bird breakfast feast, for instance, featuring lines of pelicans gliding just inches over the waves, sanderlings running quickly toward the water and quickly away as it approaches, a stately sandpiper carefully picking up one foot and placing it back down as it hunts coquina just below the surface. Gulls picking through the piles of shells hoping for a bit of crab.

A lovely start.