It is Friday, and I decided to come to the beach after dropping off my one school-attender. Its so beautiful here. I am incredibly lucky. Plus! I wrote in handwriting, in a journal I later dreamed of during a guided meditation. I am a weirdo on fire, let it be said. There really is something about pen and paper writing, and I love it, and also know there is so much more that happens here because of the speed of type. I’m almost fast enough to catch my brain as it moves, in type.
but here’s my beach list.
- the stones, piles and piles of stones, remembering Block Island cairns, remembering my Dad.
- The water is turbid- grey green sandy with all the tumult- the color of my eyes.
- the seagull has decided to sit- my spirit animal.
- the salty water smell- one window open, the car shakes in gusts of wind and smell.
- the light on the rocks- beauty only because of the shadow. amazing how that is, right?
- the car moves. its like being on a boat, on land. today is too rough to actually be on a boat for pleasure. being here, though, brings back many boats, many times on the water, many sad, many beautiful.
- I see the cars across the water, across the causeway on another beach, silver glimmers, giant suncatchers.
- the birds flying are the narrower sort, the seagulls are hunkered down, dozens of them.
- the sound is continuous, soft roar. “Remember I’m here.” it whispers in an odd cadence. “or not. I will outlast you all.”
- the wind pushes the water like kneading. waves as palm pulses.
thats all you get today, lovelies. and me too.