Arriving at our Rhode Island beach house with anticipation, I settle in as the day enfolds.
Today the light sea breeze is fragrant and the sun delightfully warm and toasty.
Listening, I hear the surf in the distance rhythmically rocking back and forth, bidding me to come closer.
I walk up and down the tiny streets, a path I could navigate with my eyes closed. Since childhood my sneakered feet have skipped along these roads lured by the sea.
But the journey is almost as wonderful as getting there.
Our neighbors’ well-kept cottages with garden beds bursting with blue-hued hydrangeas, orange day lilies, white daisies, red roses and violet morning glories are the stuff of a Monet painting brought to life with the added benefit of scent.
As I near the beach, the air cools. A gust rips the straw hat off my head, and my long hair breaks free, dancing in the wind.
Leaving the little community behind, I amble down toward the salt marsh, where pink beach roses and sea grasses create another picturesque landscape, swaying and rippling in the breeze.
I climb over large stones and thousands of shells more than a foot deep that mark the high tide water line, and I sink into the soft sand.
Gingerly, I head to the water’s edge, kick off my shoes and feel the shock of the cold water caressing my skin as the swash and backwash slide by.
Then I walk tracing the contours of the shoreline, which awakens the primeval urge that immerses me in seawater as comfortably as sets me on dry land.
I approach the line of boulders strategically placed as a natural seawall to prevent beach erosion. But they also offer the perfect spot to sit a spell.
Scanning the horizon, I watch a catamaran fly by, as airborne as it is seaborne, skimming the Sakonnet. But here there is only the motion of a few seagulls that walk by me without a passing glance.
Perched on a rock, I am a sea creature whose second nature is to nest or rest here.
Framed by this rugged, rocky New England coastline, I am a sentient being, warmed by sun and cooled by spray, while the wind plays with my hair.
Riding this glorious wave, I am unaware of the passing of time.
But then a gull dives in the surf in search of sustenance, which breaks my reverie. I have fed my soul. It is time for lunch.