Near the ocean, lucky you, wrote my friend from England.  So I hopped in the car and drove down to see it, under this grey-white sky.  A family had set up camp near their car, because the tide was high.  Only a small strip of beach was exposed, and the horizon held a few cruise ships heading to see whales or to Boston. All was possible.  Lucky me, indeed.  I shed my socks and sandals on the sand, traced back to my car to deposit my raincoat and bag, and walked to the water’s edge.  The waves foamed over small stones which glistened like precious gems, if gems were not transparent but only colorful and shiny.  Wading in, I took snap after snap to see if I could capture the way the water changed the color of the stones.  Near me, a man swam with his glasses on.  Somehow, that made me happy: so practical.  I retrieved my raincoat and made a square to sit on, thinking of the women in E.M. Forester who sat on mackintoshes, and wrote a draft of this post.  The sun came out, hot on my head.  I thought to head back home, and lingered longer. All these people on vacation, relaxing, while I was not on vacation, but glad for a good while in my heart.


A yoga in art exhibit is forthcoming at the Freer-Sackler–donate this weekend!


2 thoughts on “Lucky

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