What day is it?

Here at our new home at Twin Waters, our days take on a rhythm all of their own.  

Sometimes it feels as if we’ve been here forever. We forget that earlier in the week, it felt strange to relax into each day, to know only a vague outline, not the specifics, of what lay ahead.

We sleep with the curtains open, so that we’re woken by the morning, usually a golden orange glow that hovers over the lagoon, some days lasting longer than others, often gone in the time it takes to get up and make a cup of tea. We sit and watch the water and listen to the silence. 

On one such morning I see a fish leap high out of the blue several times. I catch my breath with each of its arc leaps that are wider and higher than the last. Another morning, a family of ducks glides by. Sometimes, earlier risers than us scoot around on a catamaran, making the most of the morning breeze.

 

 

 Routines eventually emerge. Perhaps we need them.  After breakfast on the deck, we often walk along the beach before heading back to the cafe for a coffee and the papers, choosing a table overlooking the pool. My gaze is often drawn to the (very) few people scattered around the water’s edge on deck chairs, looking as relaxed as we are. No-one swims. The day may look and feel glorious but the water is freezing. 

One day my attention is caught by an elderly man who walks towards the pool, puts on his goggles, steps in and proceeds to swim lap after lap at his own steady, leisurely pace. I am fascinated by the slow, measured movements of his arms . He inspires me more than I realize, for the next day, I find myself doing the same thing, only with not quite as much grace and gentle athleticism.

The pattern of our first day seems to repeat itself, its order rearranged depending on our mood and the weather. We snooze, read, walk, talk, eat. We return to the pool and soak up the sun even though the locals think it’s winter and wonder why we bother. (They’re wearing jumpers.) We consider taking out a canoe but realise this frozen shoulder of mine would leave Jon doing all the rowing. I don’t see anything wrong with that but he is having second thoughts. We plan to hire a bike, perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see. We think about some day trips to surrounding areas, such as Noosa, but put them off until next week. After all, there is no hurry and the car needs to rest in its little underground car park.

We welcome this time where something as simple as a swim in the pool or a walk along a beach brings a smile that doesn’t go away and where a sense of easy familiarity and contentment with the way our days unfold lasts long after the sun goes down.