Ocean Mother

    My aunt lives in Westerly where the Atlantic is just a hike or a short drive away, and, though on this trip we're taking advantage of that less than we have in past years, I still am getting to see my one true love, and that makes me happy.

    I've been feeling a bit under the weather this whole trip, so I didn't get out to immerse myself in her embraces, so the two of us have been content playing a sort of far-away game with each other.  The game goes like this: she shows me her glories, and I sit back and feel small, overwhelmed, and amazed.

    There's nothing small about the ocean.  Even the microscopic life that lives there gathers together in large pools, and the tiniest grain of sand helps comprise the most unfathomable shorelines.  When the surf comes up to dance around my ankles, it looks like whipping cream, and I always sense a strangely honored feeling about myself when it decides to stick itself to me instead of washing back into the waves.

    But this year, the southern coast of New England is recovering from a hurricane that sailed too far off the shore to do any damage on the coast, but too close to allow safe sailing.  By the time anything reached our beach, Bill had taken the form of giant waves that kept surfers and swimmers at bay, but felt to me like my Mother was stretching out, like a cat, like she wanted to play or show off, and she refused to be interrupted.

I miss her whenever I leave her, but whenever we reunite, I feel like no time has passed, or ever will again.

<3 spadeALLcross