Today it is windy in the city.
The large trees outside my window dance in the night, the rhythm of the gusts inhale and exhale like the ocean. And just like that, with the even imitation of the profound body of water that has always spoken to me, my writing voice emerges.
I know it is my writing voice because it echos in my mind, strong, clear and free from the distraction of superfluous thought. I've missed its presence in my life. I've spent nights worried sick that the disconnect from vast bodies of water has caused my recent writing drought.
Like the writer in me went on strike over her heartache for the sea.
The ocean has always grounded me.
I feel like I can believe at the edge of a shore. Like I am part of something, like I understand, know and feel for the first time. Like I could believe in God (hell, I'd probably drink the kool-aid if I thought the waves told me to.)
As a young girl when my heart ached, my mom would take me somewhere beautiful. To me, the rhythmic breath of the ocean, with pebbles, gulls, crustaceans and sea-weed was the most beautiful of all.
I've had first kisses on the beach, I've swam until I wanted to sink, I've dove to 120 feet, caught salmon, cried, yelled and marvelled, I've made and fallen love. But never have I loved more deeply than I love the sea.
She taught me how to love the earth. I once dove deep into her waters, swam with the Wolfe-eels, jellyfish and anemones and surfaced to admire the curves of nearby mountains, smell pine trees and watch twilight paint the sky gold, peach and blue. Stars emerged like fireworks illuminating the sky with sparks of my new found passion for the earth.
By her side I am fearless, safe, happy, whole.
Her squalls never scare me; I've sat by her through hundred kilometre winds as she shook with rage: waves carving caves.
I've floated, slept, swam and boated.
It is only her depths that intimidate me. I wonder what she hides, doesn't confide, of her secret pains and pleasures, her innermost scars, the friends and the foes of which I'll never know.
And I miss her... every day I fight the drought, the dehydration of not being by her side. A lover love-sick I watch the clock tick-tock until I can sit, swim, sigh and scream on her shores.... silently sending affirmations that I will return to her side again.
