"Paris," he thought, "Paris would be an extraordinary place to visit." This he thought, not of the famed city of love, but rather of his small town of Paris, Nova Scotia. Gunter thought this while sipping on a large steaming mug of peppermint tea, not so hot that it burned, but instead a gentle heat, one that radiated warmth as he felt it travel the journey to his stomach.
He had always enjoyed a good mug of tea in the early morning while gazing at the ever-changing tide from his back deck. The sky above was the crystal blue, the clear, imperfection free blue that can only be found in Nova Scotia. The heavens above were dotted by clouds, and he didn't have to search hard in order to see the almost dream-like moon being hinted at, hanging low over the ocean, still faintly illuminated by the sun that was now lazily crawling through the sky.
All of this, and more, was observed by Gunter White as he cautiously sipped his peppermint tea. He was both enjoying the combined warmth of his drink and his surroundings, and not worrying about the rapid cooling of his morning tea. Instead, he focused on the nature around him.
A cool breeze swept across him, rustling the thick trees that were to his right, and racing through the wide open fields off to his left. Gunter watched the water lap at the beach behind his house, heard the slight rushing of the water, moving both gently and powerfully, making progress. He didn't know which way the tide was running - he had a tide chart, but rarely paid attention to it, preferring instead the constant spontaneity that could be found in the ocean tide. He felt that the Bay of Fundy was too great, too magnificent, that it deserved more respect than to be simplified down into a small chart of dates, hours, and heights. As he watched, he saw a fishing boat bobbing it's way to sea for the day, and watched the slight pulse of the water, a little back, a little more forwards, and then a little more backwards. While the steadily rising sun glinted off the waves, he decided that the tide was heading out with the small red and white boat. He knew that it would come back and greet the land that evening, similar to the fishermen, with new gifts and with a weary, aged and ancient form of life. Something that proclaims at once the Siren-like qualities of the water, both the beauty of it and the danger of it.
The ocean practically sings to all who see it. It captures many hearts, including that of our Gunter White. By now, his tea had grown cold, but Gunter had found that, as usual, he didn't mind. As he sat perched in his reclining lawn chair, the sun continued it's constant ascent, tracing it's way through the sky.
Gunter had a watch loosely clasped around his right wrist, as well as a thin, worn out, light brown leather band. Despite the presence of the watch, Gunter rarely felt the need to hurry, and now was no exception. Rather than check the hour, he purposefully turned it around on his wrist so that the face of the timepiece was looking away from him. He paid temporary attention to the weathered leather bracelet, the thin leather lightly held between his thumb and his forefinger. He then turned his gaze back to the ocean, knowing that soon his day must begin. He didn't dread it, no, he looked forward to it, but he also took a silent joy in the old and wizened peace of the Nova Scotian nature surrounding him, looking out onto the Bay of Fundy.
Gunter found his mug to be empty, and after tipping the mug back to try and drink whatever last few drops of peppermint tea that might remain, he took his empty mug as a cue to start his day. Gunter took one last gaze out at the receding waters which were now beginning their daily unveiling of the mud flats. At low tide, these would stretch for miles, to have their beds searched for clams by those who made their living off of them. Gunter White ran his right hand lazily through his sandy blond hair, and regretfully returned to the interior of his house, placing his mug in the sink, already longing to go back to his porch, to be among the trees and he fields and the coursing water.
He swung his light backpack on, and began the short walk down his driveway, accompanied by his small calico cat. As he walked, the cat twisted it's way affectionately around and between Gunter's legs. The mail lady drove by in her car, and they shared a friendly wave as she went by. When Gunter's bus came, the cat had long since meandered off, as as he stepped onto the first step of the bright yellow school bus, the sun glinted off of the curved roof. As he made that first step he had his back turned to the ocean - but before he'd even left, he was already promising to return.