I was born and raised on the west coast and lived 20 years on the east coast before migrating back “home” at the turn of the century. Wherever I’ve lived, it’s never been far from a big body of water. And by far, I mean less than an hour’s drive, and usually much, much less. Best is walking distance, like the 11 years I lived just a 5-minute walk away from this beach.
As I travel, I find myself drawn to water, whether it’s an ocean, a lake, a river, or a reservoir. There’s something about the light and air near water that speaks to me, in a way I find leaves me wordless yet complete. Watching the waves, the endless cycle of tides, is mesmerizing.
Occasionally, there is something about a particular place that makes me love it. I know this tree isn’t standing after the hurricanes that hit the southern states this fall, but my images of it remain.
I’ll probably spend the rest of my days bouncing between the two coasts. It’s a big country, but it’s worth the crossing of it to get to the other side. I’m far from the water these days, and I can feel it. Time to go find some ocean and a long beach where I can be most myself.
By this time next year, if my intentions hold true, I’ll be back on the other coast. I’m just a ping-pong coaster in a tiny trailer.
I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.