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.