Islands in a Common Sea

My neighborhood is a small seaside town. Not sleepy by any means. It is populated by farm workers and military personnel and their families, and the hustle and bustle that accompanies such people.

Through most of the year, the peninsula experiences fog that lolls out and around and back in again. My little neighborhood receives the kiss of the sun more so than most. Sweetened by a sea breeze most every day.

It is hard to imagine my life as it was, before I came to this town full of history and yet still mystery. Before I came to know and love the salty atmosphere that steeps this central coast byway. Before I turned my life and my partner's life upside down and inside out.

She remains there. In the hot desert air. In air conditioned spaces. Whilst I am here. In my lazy chair. With the front door thrown wide, and the back screen that lets the breeze flow through this house, through me.

I would welcome her to be here, if she would. But she is not.

So. When I am not all hustle and bustle for my workaday, I let this be a simple place. A lazy pace. A space for reading and journal writing. For collecting gifts from the sea. For dog walks and cat naps. For soft introspection vs. hard exertion, and appreciation vs. extrication by any means.

Because rather than escape to someplace else, I am already right where I need to be. And in this place, I would welcome and relish her who could enjoy it with me. Here, in this small seaside town.

(with thanks to Anne Morrow Lindbergh)