I miss the ocean. My heart hurts for it. I've never had a more difficult time adjusting to being home after a trip. Even though we were just a little over two hours away in Monterey for four days, I miss it so much it hurts.
I want to live there. So bad. I feel alive when I am there, I feel calm and most like myself. I am reminded that if I ever lived there it would lose its luster. My problems would follow me and that hopeful glimmer would fade. I know that and don't. I don't know how the ocean could ever lose its fascinating magic.
I just want to feel alive and ok for more than a few minutes at a time. I have also thought about getting a vintage style bicycle with a brown wicker basket up front. I would ride down our Iron Horse trail to the market and peddle so fast I would feel that brief sense of flying. But our house is up the steepest hill and there is no way I could bike or walk a bike up it. So that's that. I just want something good.
The ocean is a dream, my dream. My hope. A breeze and the spray of waves too perfect to even utter a sound. Oh lord, I miss it.
I feel that way about the forests of Idaho. Every season, any season… the cool depths and myriad sounds of summer, the silent awe and crystalline purity of winter, the tangy excitement of change in both spring and fall… God, I miss it. Even if I were there, I wouldn't be able to truly partake of it any longer, not now that I'm sick. So maybe it's better that it lives in my memory now, because it's perfect there and I can stay as long as I want.
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