Last night I slept well. The alarm startled me at 8:00 am. Wafting from the kitchen was the aroma of homemade soup. The cool coastal air brightened the toothsome appeal. His Lordship habitually arises early to permit him peacefully to earmark his culinary skills which lately have focused upon the Mediterranean diet. The drifting delectation this morning was a suitable introduction to the savoury breakfast at Lowcountry Produce; viz., avocado toast. In the interest of limpidity I will however disclose that I preceded the modest plate with a freshly made glazed doughnut. My sugar addiction shamelessly thrives upon the sybaritism.

This afternoon’s tricycle ride along the winding pathway from Lands End was singular. There was an uncommon calmness for what was a brilliantly sunny and warm Saturday afternoon. It was a tranquility earlier reflected at the car wash where there were open vacuum stations, normally unprecedented. Seemingly the weekend football game has preoccupied the public with midday homebound preparations and celebrations. Of more remarkable priority to me was my inexplicable cycling athleticism. Without constraint whatsoever I flew along the pathway, bypassing Tower Beach, Sprunt Pond and Wagon Road near the Greenwood Drive intersection all the way past Turtle Lane to Sea Pines Beach Club. There activity picked up noticeably. Mothers and fathers transporting and hauling children to and from the beach were in the majority. The parking lot was full. Cars circled to find an open spot.

It was a languid afternoon. Upon evaporating from the tumult at Beach Club the veil fell rapidly from the surrounding shady tree-lined passages along N Sea Pines Drive. The further I digressed from the erstwhile commotion, the more pacific it became.

At home I complemented my late afternoon perambulation by editing the photographs I had earlier captured in the neighbourhood. It is by design that I am stirring up my interest in other than oceanfront snapshots of which I have already an enormous catalogue collected over previous years. Getting on and off the beach has forever been a moderate challenge because the sandy periphery requires one to walk onto the smooth plateau. This limitation now constitutes a palpable burden. I may yet achieve Coligny Beach (where the portal to the beach is the least incompatible); but getting there represents a sizeable distance for me from Lands End. Meanwhile I intend to content myself with circulation about the diverse number of lanes adjoining the ocean. Many of those lanes afford a narrow but magical glimpse of the sea from an entirely new perspective. By definition the unqualified view of the sea is bland unless ornamented with at least a slim border of the shoreline. But from beneath the canopy of sea pines and Spanish moss through avenues of Palmetto ferns, sea grasses and mounting white sand dunes, the image is both uniquely colourful and intrinsically complicated.