It wasn't enough for me to awaken at first light yesterday, and go coffee-up myself in an Adirondack that faces the point where the sun rises over the fence.

It wasn't enough for me to go plop down on the beach yesterday, beside gulls and pipers that jog around me on long-stick legs and pick at dried orange peels.

It wasn't enough for me to absorb some of the near-summer sun at its noon-time zenith, while I ducked my head under my oversized, straw sombrero.

And it wasn't enough for me to sit in the early evening, just as the sun was busy setting, to watch a lumpy, lop-sided moon sneak out of the tree tops.

No, the feeling of having warmth on my skin, the pleasure of being outdoors in mild heat that is moderated by a sea breeze, and dwelling in the sights of this long day were simply not enough to satisfy me.

I need to lift my eyelids early in these kinds of mornings. I need to re-live the experience once again today.

I look at this morning's sun bouncing inward to me from a window while I am writing, so I cannot easily imagine or remember the sunlight and the events of which I partook only yesterday. I need to remove myself from words and walk into the real experience.

I did not get enough of yesterday, so must go out and look for the remainder of it today.

If the tide is not so high, the moon not yet completely filled in with light, I might find yesterday's spot on the beach, jump in the cold water long enough to get a really good shiver, and continue the dream that yesterday would not allow me to complete.

When I add summer and the sea together in my mind, the sum is one happy spell I wish might never end.