The Tide

It is August.  Over half of the year has passed.  I am at the beach cursing that I don't have a pen and paper with me.  They are back at the car in my purse in the trunk.  I am trying to not to think about the results of the biopsies but I can't stop from doing it.  Don't think about a ballerina dressed in pink riding on the back of a circus elephant.  See?

I grab my car keys and hike back to the car.  I really need to write.

When I got to the beach at 9:30 this morning it was sparsely populated.  That's how I like it.  The wind is blowing hard and I like that, too.  As I get closer to the water, I can see that the tide is coming in as the waves crash to the shoreline.  After setting up my blanket and bag, I slather on sunscreen including getting as much of my back as my fingers can reach and I am sure I have left white globs of goop back there.

The sounds of the beach fill my ears.  Waves, birds.  The water is warm enough to walk right in and as I do I am tossed about.  Waves hit me and spray my face.  When I lift my feet off of the bottom I am carried by the tide southward so periodically I have to fight my way back trudging against the current fish swimming ahead of me trying to stay out of my way.  Sometimes I face the shoreline and watch it pass by fast enough it seems as if I am in a car.  Sometimes I drag my feet in the sand to slow the driving water.

Crash into me!  Crash into me again!  Make me keep my mind on now.  I don't want to think.  I just want to be.  Sea salt is in my mouth and I taste it when I lick my lips.  It gets in my eyes and the burning doesn't last long.

Hit me some more!  Drop me low and then pick me up and carry me away.  Floating up and then pressed down.  I stand in front of walls of water topped with froth and enjoy the impact that is so strong I walk backwards.  Tire me out, please.  I need peace and if it means standing here in your strength being knocked around for an hour then I will.

I finally am tired enough and peaceful enough to leave the water.  The beach is inhabited by more people and I know I will want to leave soon.  White powdered sugar coats my feet and ankles as I walk back to my blanket.

Pockets of Sunshine

The world can be a beautiful place.  Maybe not everywhere at the same time but a pocket here and a pocket there joy and happiness are exploding from earth's surface to the heavens.

I eat dinner tonight and I have enough to be full.  I look outside and it is pouring, as is the norm in Florida summer afternoons, and I am inside and dry.

I have my dog sitting on my lap and I feel loved.  He is the best kisser, you know.  When I walk in the door after a long day at work I pick him up and he holds my face with his paws and covers me with kisses.  He bends his head down so that it rests in the crook of my neck.  I try to give him his fill of love back and release him back to the floor when he is ready.

There are pockets of happiness.  Sometimes they are very hard to find and we feel like it is impossible.  There are dark times.  There is always going to be a challenge in one form or another as long as I am alive.

What I need to do is live my life as if I am taking a walk in a forest knowing that at times in my journey the sun has trouble breaking through the tops of the trees but there will be pockets of it, some small and some large, that will warm me and provide light as I hike along.  I may get lost but I need to know I will still have a path whether it is well worn or I am making it as I go.

I also need to remind myself that it is OK to stop to rest.  It is OK to be sad sometimes.  What is not OK is to let the darkness in and take root.  I need to walk through it because somewhere up ahead is another pocket of sunshine.