i've been back home a month and only today it occurred to me to take a walk down to the shore. i have no idea why i haven't gone every single day. it's not that far, and i love it there. it's a sheltered, calm bay, very quiet, weathered boathouses and bayous, nothing spectacular. it's the small things i like. the pebbles, smooth glass pieces, feisty little plants sprouting from the band of dry seaweed washed ashore. spiders hiding in the shore wheat. i always look for treasures, but tend to find odd things. today, a piece of rubber chicken, grown green. for a moment i was really mystified.
when i'm there, it seems i always end up chatting with some stranger, and i never know if they are locals or vacationers. i know no one here, not even the names of the neighbours. i don't know who knows me. some do. it's odd. today it was a man, around my age, who came from the sea on a rowing boat. it was like a scene from some artsy movie, our conversation included. we talked about swimming and snakes, then he left without any formal farewell, just noting he'd be off on his bike again. and i stayed, silent, picking up pebbles and looking at them closely.
