I think that everybody has places of peace, spaces where their heartbeat slows, their fists uncurl, their tired eyes see clearly and brightly.
For me, one such space is the ocean.
I stand knee deep in the blue clear ocean. Settled. I look at my feet and watch beautiful fish walk by, as if I am their neighbour instead of the foreigner I am.
I listen to the waves tell their stories of old. "This one time" they say, over and over, whispering tales of glory and sorrow. They know that their life ends once they hit the beach, so they waltz around together, biding their time until fate lands them home.
As I step out of the water, the sand slips beneath my toes, like a young child learning to walk. The last waves call to me, beckoning me out of the land and into the water. I pay them no attention. I'm ready for the sand.
The sand. Oh, my toes sink in. With each step, I'm unsure if my feet will make it to the next step.
The sand grabs on to my toes, like a dear friend embracing one who has been gone too long. I let the sand hold on. I've missed its presence.
The water, the waves, the sand, and the everything - they've each let my worries wander away. I can no longer the issue I set out to solve when I arrived.
And the sun. Oh. It holds on like a baby to its mother. It clings to me and I don't mind. I hold it dear, near to my chest, because all to soon, its day will end and its embrace will set.