Retreating to Write

Sounds like a funny thing, huh? But that's what I'm doing this week. I meant to post last night, but the Internet went down. However, right now, I'm writing from my room in a lovely house on a beach!

A beach--that's water and sand and sound. Mother's love and father's laughter for me. I grew up on a beach and I never feel more at peace than when I hear the sound that is coming through my open balcony window right now. The ebb and flow--mostly flow because high tide is coming in. The wind and the whisper of cycles of life. I cannot believe I once took this for granted, but I never thought I'd ever leave it.

So, today I woke to the sound of this morning's high tide, crept down in a house of 12 silent women and grabbed a cup of coffee, hurried back to snatch some writing time, and then when I couldn't stand not being in the water another second, I moseyed on out, in capris and flipflops. The water was ice-spike cold, but worth it! I probably looked funny in capris (that I use for painting) and flipflops and a sweatshirt, and that sweatshirt was pretty toasty by the time I strolled back an hour later.

Then, I ran out to pick up all the stuff I forgot to bring with me, grabbed a sando (our family name for sandwich) for lunch, came back, opened the doors and fell so asleep to the sound of the waves. I think I could be a normal sleeper with an ocean outside my window. So, since that stolen hour, I've been perched on my bed, in a sweater and a blanket, working to the sound of the waves and the occasional tang of salty water.

In the words of William P. Kinsella's Shoeless Joe, "Is this heaven?"