The best kind of struggle

Yesterday, as the sun slipped away, David, Glenna, and I tucked into their car and headed east. Their car took me on roads I'd not traveled yet in my time in NC. We sped along in the dark on Highway 64, through a near empty swath of land, towards the Abermarle Sound. 

After stopping for supper in Williamston, we all settled back into our seats for the last hour under a very dark sky saturated with stars.

In this warm space devoid of colors, snapshots from the week came filtering back.

Monday night's sunset, that contrast of pink on blue that you only seem to witness in late fall (and which seemed to replicate itself around the country).  

The last of autumn's showy displays. 

More sunset spetacularness, which I believe caused a traffic jam. No lie, as we came around the bend, the cars slowed to 40 MPH on a freeway folks are happily speeding at 75. No accident, no cop, not even that many cars. 

Fog slipped by, just the kiss of a cloud, as we crossed the Scuppernong River, East Lake, and Croatan Sound. When we arrived in Kill Devil Hills, we sat and had an IPA and stared out our windows in silence and awe.

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Last night, in bed, I heard the heat cycle off with a click.

And the waves upon the sand surged into the silence of the room. I smiled. 

For the first time ever, I left the blinds to my hotel room wide open. 

I didn't want to miss the show.

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I had set my alarm, but I woke several minutes before and rolled towards the windows. 

I pulled the comforter off the bed out onto the balcony with me and settled in. 

Did not disappoint. 

So much joy.

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More and more often I struggle to find the words to adequately describe the full depth of the experiences I am having, to encompass the totality of emotions that rise like the tide as the sensory input comes in.

The sound of the waves.

The shifting of the sky's colors.

The chocolate undertones of a particular coffee.

The smallness I feel under the night dome.

The lingering scent of cinnamon from fresh bread.

The warmth of the sun on your cheek after a long run. 

This is the best kind of toiling.