During the summer I reminisce about growing up on Long Island, surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean. Mom would keep the radio on and position us near the lifeguard when we were at the beach, knowing that nature can be unpredictable and unruly. I helped keep vigil.
Last week a friend asked how I was doing. I answered, “Partly cloudy with a chance of rain.”
I often feel like a passenger on a ship when the sea is calm–which is good, because I am a little clumsy with poor balance. I easily walk along the decks, my fingers brushing against the rails.
When the days get rougher, so do the waters. I grasp the rail firmly still able to keep upright, absorbing the turbulence. I keep my eyes on the horizon, mindful of the change in the weather, aware of the advancing storm before it arrives. As the darkening clouds gather I cling with both hands, my feet sliding on the slick decks as the rain pours down. Finally the ship is roiling with such ferocity I lose my grip, buffeted about by the elements, bouncing off walls and safety netting.
The sun comes out as always, I get up with a bruise here and there and I once again stroll the perimeter, the salty air refreshing my soul and my mood.
Today, the sea looks as smooth as glass.