writing by the ocean
|As I write, this is my view.|
I sit here, by the ocean. The sun sparkles off the water. Canadian geese fly past. It is quiet. The world moves outside and I sit still inside. The words pile this morning. The thinking is full, boxing ideas, embracing change, searching for meaning.
I walk the breakwater one more time. The salty waves crash and splash. I taste salt on my lips. The world moves and I keep still on the inside. Heather and I talk writing, one writer to another. It’s not about teaching writers, it’s about being writers. There’s comfort in feeling another soul understands your own.
Many find peace at the ocean, they find comfort with the salt air and the sound of the waves. I understand the draw, but it does not capture me. I slip through the net.
My comfort is in train tracks built around my chair and Lego cities constructed on the dining room table. It is snuggled under a quilt with a child and a book. It is movies and popcorn and all six of us somehow squished on the couch. It is bike rides and playing catch in the yard and racing up the hill. It is a homemade play directed by my daughters and banana bread baking in the oven. It is noise and hugs and one more interruption that starts with, “Mom…” It is laundry buzzers and dishes stacked in the cupboard. The words pile in the crevices of a full life.
I sit here, writing by the ocean, ready to be home.
|Join us at Two Writing Teachers for
the March Slice of Life Challenge.
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