I’m feeling a wee bit homesick, not for the green grass of my previous home, but for the ocean, it’s 5 hours away. The winter ocean, with it’s chilly wind swept grey gravel beaches, and tides that go out forever. The off season ocean where you can walk for ages before meeting another soul. For the sensation of warmth, and a whiff of sea salt that envelopes you when you get back into your car. The brisk wind whipping your hair into messy waves, as if trying to recreate the ripples on the beach.
I am homesick for the ocean, the waves, the water, and the seaweed with the occasional dead crab washed up on the beach. The sound of the gulls as they ride the air currents, the wings snapping to keep up with the breeze. The crashing of the white caps on the footings of the pier, don’t slip, watch your step on the wet wooden planks.
Homesick for the sea glass, broken, sanded sea jewels, that were added to my treasure pile. Glistening wet shards that can be found in piles of washed up seaweed. Pebbles, shiny in the weak winter sun, rounded, smooth, each one different with a story to tell. I brought one home from each beach visit, and placed them in the space between the bricks on my patio. Who reads their stories now?
Crashing waves, keening gulls, and tangy scents of sea water. Will the falling snowflakes here make me forget the ocean that was so much a part of my life there?
A chapter ended, and a new story begun, maybe this time I will collect pine cones in a basket, building up in a pile at my door. Each spiky cone containing a different tale, telling the story of my new life, washing away the homesick feeling, like the waves that gently lapped at our feet.