We've been home for a week, and I still miss the sound of the ocean.
We stayed right on the beach, with our own private path giving us direct access to the ocean. We could sit on the deck and hear the waves. Pelicans regularly flew overhead. I took walks very early in the morning, as the sun came up and the sand was still cool. I collected shells, found a live starfish stranded, even. I showed it to my ten-year-old before walking it out into the surf and laying down gently in the water. We found a chunk of coral, still alive and crimson, twined with seaweed. We took it back to the house, only to discover it was a home for 5 baby crabs. We made several trips back to the ocean that day, rescuing the crabs and sending them home.
We took a walk on the beach at night; just the two of Us. There was just a sliver of a crecent moon, but the whitecaps of the waves seemed to glow. We turned our flashlights on the nocturnal crabs and chased them. We looked in vain for the loggerheads nesting. Then we stood in the darkness, his arms around me as I leaned back into his chest. We listened to the rising and falling of the waves, standing there, at the very eastern edge of the United States.
My four-year-old cried the morning we left. I felt like crying, too. The ocean feels like home to me. I miss the sea and salt. I miss digging my toes in the sand. I miss being able to go barefoot everywhere. I miss watching the kids squeal with delight as waves crashed over them.
We are home. And landlocked.
Now I have tears and they are beautiful bittersweet tears. The Ocean, I miss her desperately. She's a part of some of us even though I am home here too, and landlocked as well. *love you*
Posted by: Eating_dust | June 11, 2006 at 07:21 AM