Today the sky is an apt metaphor. There is plenty of light to see, but clouds have covered over the blue. I look up and I give thanks, but my heart cries out for the color I love.
On Friday I stood at my old beloved beach, Independence Park in Beverly. The sun was bright but the wind was harsh, and part of me wanted to leave. Instead I pulled up my hood and watched a cormorant frisking in the shallows. Instead I gathered sticks, shells, and stones and arranged them on the sand. Afterward, I watched the waves, noticed the swirl of detritus from the ocean floor.
Lately I’ve been missing my usual vim and vigor. The sky is covered over. The detritus is swirling. I want magic words that leap me from this reality to another, but magic is not the answer this time.
I look up and give thanks. I pull up my hood and receive the wind.