Color notes. Oil sketch recording seaside color sensations.

Seaside Morning

The sun is gleaming on the the water. Far out on the horizon, a rolling thunderstorm grumbles over the Gulf. Nearer to shore, cumulus clouds drift in a silent, lazy train.

I am surrounded by textures, immersed in patterns, forms repeat in various incarnations. Floating, curving and ever shifting forms. The moist air of clouds. Springy sea oats. Their lean lines curve and bow, and paint lacy patterns of blue gray on the warm, pale gray sand.

Ageless sand, coarse and fine and formed from innumerable shell and fossil fragments. Solid earth planted beneath a gaseous sky. Shells from the sea, water from outer space, and sun, always the sun, the color of light, the color of life.

Sparse, short grasses blanket the beach in patches. Slight mounds of warm green, dry domes of terse texture contrast with the upright dignity of swaying sea oats. If they were a language, the short grass would be the sturdy, slang, everyday words, while the sea oats would sing songs of poetry. Vivid yellow dune flowers embellish the melody like the high clear notes of a flute. All is a symphony of sound, shape and color.

Rambling morning glories weave themselves under the sea oats, competing for attention. Rambling and reaching their sienna tendrils out to lay claim to new territory. Bright, yellow-green oblong leaves show off tubular purple flowers. A morning dove wanders among the morning glory. Its feathered body casts a long blue shadow in the slanted sunlight. With a squeak and a flutter it flies away. Seacoast sounds.

Whispering sounds, the lapping of gentle waves, crickets in the grasses, birds sing in tune with the melody of this seaside morning.

The sun is getting hotter. The tide is rising. A breeze begins to stir from the sea.

I may go for a swim.