A day to wrap things up here on the east coast. Daughters are easing back into their own habits and routines. Parents are coordinating schedules in anticipation of evening flights back to the Midwest.
I am itching to walk. Pace outside, face the sun, take rapid steps, get that feeling of something coming to an end out of my system. Walk, briskly, walk already!
Opposition was strongest before breakfast. But then Bella’s platters were put before us…
blueberries inside, strawberries on top
Suddenly, faced with the possibility of returning to a closet of ill-fitting clothes, everyone wanted to stretch and saunter.
It’s easy to forget that New Haven is on the Sound. The oceanfront is somewhere beyond the city’s highways and warehouses. You can’t see it, smell it, access it. Yet a mere two highway exits away, there is the West Haven promenade.
Sandy stretches, coves, inlets, sandpipers, gulls, sea shells, and the ocean water, positively sparkling on this sharp day.
beach moment (is it January?)
We follow a long stretch of sand out to cliffs. Edgy cliffs, cliffs with a sharp side to them, cliffs with a personality! Climbing the rocks, we are mesmerized. In crevices we find hundreds of shells. Birds dive toward us. Ha ha ha, you can’t fly! The water is calm, the water is wide...
so many shells...
The water! Wait, the level seems to be changing. What happened to the stretch of sand connecting us to the mainland? What do you mean, disappearing rapidly? What do you mean gone?
How the winds are laughing,
they laugh with all their might…
Like a swallow has learned to fly? No, not us, there, rooted to the ground. We haven’t the bodies for it. Only in our heads. Or with the help of some monster airplane. Otherwise – no wings. Just feet with very wet pants and shoes.
submerged, distant now. such quick changes. wings -- wings help. other options? move quickly, get wet. or sink. or swim.