Layers

The view out my car window. St. Simons Island, Georgia

Remember when riding in the car meant staring out the window? Searching for images in the clouds. A duck. A car. A face.

Growing up we drove. A lot. Sacramento to San Diego; the annual family vacation. Beach house rentals, long days playing in the water, dinners out, late nights, sleeping in; on repeat.

Our clan grew. A new generation of travelers. Papa passed. Daisy hosts our brood. St. Simons Island, Georgia, this year’s destination.  

St. Simons Island has layers. Blue, green, gray, white. Sea, land, sky. Our temporary residence resembles the island.

It’s as layered as the view out my car window.  

A beautiful seaside compound. Three stories. Top to bottom, layers of comfort. Green dominates; the favorite hue is everywhere. Space defining area rugs anchor natural stone occasional tables and plush velvet couches. Abstract art, hints of gold, crisp white counters and cabinets, easy to clean wood floors. A beach chair and towel for each occupant. Stocked with an abundance of essentials for the week’s rental.  

Our existence here has layers. A once pristine surround quickly morphs into “home.” Familiar. Toes on tables, empty soda cans, pillows askew, dogged eared pages in a weathered book, an abandoned laptop.  

Layers, clean or messy, remove the flat.

Layers add depth, visual interest, a sense of coziness.  

On vacation, rumpled pillows, puzzles in progress, rejected electronics… all the layers I love to see.

Vacation layers.