It’s summer now, which means good weather. And in turn, that means more time spent outdoors. I live in New England, which has very cold winters, so the opportunity to stretch your arms and be released from a cramped, cold, bone-numbing hibernation is nothing if not a necessity.
A lot of my summers are spent by the ocean, visiting beaches with friends and family, playing and swimming in the cool, salty waves. The air is cool, but under the heat of the sun, it becomes refreshing. The cold is re-contextualized into something one looks forward to.
I don’t really think theres anything like it. The ocean is dirty and dangerous and cold, and yet it feels like home. I smell the sour sea and somehow it feels like nothing but comfort. It gets me feeling as though I could ever live apart from it. Even if I move out of New England, I would always have to be a day trip away from the ocean.
I’m not one to contemplate death much, but when I do, for it comes for us all, I want to be brought back to it, ashes spread over the ocean as the sun sets. The ocean breeze will take me far away but forever will my resting place be the sea. I hope whoever remembers me is able to find me in their minds whenever they visit.
I’m not dead yet, however. I have much life left to live, which is a good thing for me: it means more time spent by the ocean, basking in the air and the sand and the sun and the waves. It means more memories to be shared.
Every sun that rises from the horizon, off in the distance across the sea, is a day that is worth living.
Sorry for the more serious and morbid thoughts this week. My attachment to this ‘place’ is very important to me, and it has encompassed my mind this past week. Regardless, this has been your’s, ephesusmoon.