It was a warm and sunny day in early June. A laden barge is lumbering slowly across the blue-green water in the distance ushered on by a small tug. The tug seems to struggle and strain from its load; for the barge is most likely weighted down with freshly dredged sand. Large white puffy clouds tower in the distance, highlighted majestically against an otherwise clear blue sky.

 The air moves slowly by, occasionally kicking up a sudden gentle gust that sends the leaves rustling like a wind chime. The water adds its' own steady rhythm to the music of the leaves, slapping relentlessly against the rocks of the seawall. I imagine myself on the water.

 Nearby, a flag dangles lazily from a pole at the end of a pier. As the breeze stirs through the trees the lethargic flag takes a short break from its slumber to wave to me. It waves as if to call me to the water - flapping seductively - signaling its consent for me to abandon my labors and join with the water.

 Momentarily, it seems, the sounds and smells of man have been temporarily suspended, treating the spectator to a rare event. The air is quiet except for the sounds of nature in the water and in the wind. Even the F-15 jet fighters that fly almost daily overhead are silent for a moment. Eglin Air Force Base and its routine flight training exercises yield - albeit briefly - to the bay in respect.

 A rare pause indeed in the city, for nearby on a busy highway humanity darts and dashes to and fro. Where sirens and the roaring of a large truck engine, struggling to overcome the inertia that holds it back, filled the air only moments ago, the sounds of nature now fill the air. These gentle natural sounds fill my ears, my heart and my soul as if Mother Nature were offering me her Eucharist.

 There have been persistent rumors of an impending early-out offer from my employer. If true, I will have a decision to make. Regardless of my acceptance or rejection of any retirement offer, I have heard a calling from the Choctawhatchee Bay. Armed with my kayak and paddle, I am impassioned to explore her width and breath. All that is left to determine is just how much free time I will have on my hands to do so.

 Allan D. Pierson

June 2008