When you live by the water.... if you're not careful... the sound of it can become so ingrained, that it's ignored. Maybe like the wind in the trees. Or birdsong.
Or, three times a day you can walk down the steps... faced with a vast sea of blue, or brown or gray and not see it... besieged as you are by daily minutiae... jaded as you are because, well... it's always there.
And then some nights... most, really... while in bed, you find yourself rocked by the moonlit view and the rhythm.
................
Tonight I was walking Meander. It was late enough for the neighborhood to be quiet, and I wasn't paying attention to more than my own thoughts.
And then there was a familiar sound that made me stop. A slow, triple 'shish'... 'shish'.... 'shish' -long pause, and then the heavy heaving of a large wave upon the rocks. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
I have wanted to forget because it's just too painful not being with the water. For the most part, I have. But hearing that tonight? I don't know if it was joy or anguish.
Bittersweet is too small a word.
Bittersweet is too small a word…absolutely, because sometimes the emotional range is indeed looping between joy and anguish, a far wider gamut, which both cuts deeper and liftes higher. Well then, just forget? Good luck, it has certainly never worked for me. At best all I've ever managed is to set myself up to be suddenly overwhelmed at some future moment. The heart never abides by the imposition of logic any more than the wind cares whether or not you're wearing a coat. The ancient rhythm of the big lake has merged into your own pulse—and like it or not, you're hereafter joined forever.
ReplyDelete