One day I’ll take a week by the sea, alone.
When I’m sure my doing so won’t harm a creature living, namely dogs, children, and husband. When no wolves are present, looming, or nearly past just a while. A place where the forest meets the sea, in the warm season. Such places exist, in Australia or the Pacific North Western United States.
I’ll wear knee-length well-worn cotton shorts and tank shirt, my hair long enough to braid. I won’t bathe or wash my clothes except when I swim. When I tire of the sun and water in the heat of the day, I’ll go to the forest. I’ll sit beneath a grand giant tree and wait. The old woman will come and make sense of all that has been, to guide me towards peace. She’ll speak softly, without my asking one question or uttering a single confession. I need only listen and be still. Each afternoon, just as day meets twilight, the old man waits at the shore in his little skiff. I climb in and we go for a sail as the sun sets. We don’t speak. He smokes a pipe and looks pleased with my progress of the day. At a moment he chooses, I jump off and have a swim again. Then I sleep, sleep, sleep.
That is my last post, over 4 years past. Since then, I have in fact arrived at a wee lake, in the back of my apartment building. Husband much harmed, divorced. Kids? Glad to say tight friends. No wolves indeed! Much to my surprise, all I had to do was bid them farewell nasty thieves. An old woman did appear and carry me for a while. That bit about no confessions though. Quite the fantasy that was eh? Old men? Well certainly. I’m old, and dating. So not just one. And certainly not a single fellow has arrived at dusk with a skiff.
Here I find myself, in a sift of days, old and new, brimmed with treasures, odd and intricate.