Yesterday, as my youngest son and I drove the island roads delivering holiday cookies to friends, between stops we acknowledged the heavy feel of this season before us.
I told him that despite everything happening everywhere, we can hold on to the fact that we are one day closer to the shortest day of the year and one day closer to the longest day of the year. Winter Solstice will mark the turn back to lighter days.
He smiled at my statement, and quipped back, “You know, mom, one could also say we are one day closer to Halloween. That’s kind of an absurd statement.”
He’s right of course, but it’s true, and I also hold on to the fact that we are one day closer to the end of the pandemic, just as we are one day further from it’s beginning so many terrible months ago.
He sweetly allowed me my glass half full reflection, and we finished our deliveries feeling a little lighter.
Today I thought more about time and the darkness and the coming light all morning long. You see, it’s been a very long day today.
It was an early morning for me—in fact the earliest morning I’ve had since I worked as a baker many years ago long before children.
Since March of this year, I’ve become a terrible night owl, with wakeful sleep some nights, usually around 4am. But this morning at 4:30am I was wide awake, and surrendered to my wakeful state, to rise and stumble into the kitchen at 5am to make coffee and feed the mutt.
All was quiet and dark inside and outside our little house, as our dog rallied with glee as only a dog can at such an hour to join me with my blue cup of hot coffee for a walk along the shadowed roads of our neighborhood.
As we walked the quiet streets I smiled as I realized that I would get to witness the darkness lift, being up before sunrise—a welcome change after watching the darkness move in faster and faster each day, racing time to grab some daylight—any light—at all before the afternoon sunsets.
The air was dry and clear following the torrential rainfall of yesterday, which had muddied the roads, drenching all those unfortunate to be caught in it.
As Rocky and I made our way to the beach, we passed over a gully, dry for much of the year, but singing like a river full of yesterday’s rain. The burbling sounds carried me up to the mountains, to memories of many hikes along and over small rivers and streams. Again I smiled and paused to listen.
At the beach, a light wind blew small even waves to shore in the dark haze of pre-dawn. Far to the south, a ferry glowed bright with lights headed east to Seattle, and across the water house lights peeked out at us. I stood very still, taking in the morning, the stillness and peace, and turned surprised to find my dog mimicking my stance, waiting with me, witnessing the dark and making space for my own desire to be quiet.
Our walk along the beach was cast in deep shadow, and the light took its time arriving. I felt impatient for the light, and reminded myself that it would come in time, as it always does.
Near the water’s edge a translucent circle shimmered, and as my mind said jellyfish, my eyes recognized the too perfect quality of it. I reached down and pulled out a plastic disk. Lid? Hatch cover? No. A frisbee. This treasure held joyful possibility.
We headed for home as my stomach burned, a familiar side effect from too little sleep. I turned for one last look at the water, and without more than one complete check to see that I was all alone, I shed my clothes, piled them on the rock wall, told my dog to stay and waded in. I stood shin deep for a spell absorbing the chill, waiting for acceptance and heard the cry of an eagle nearby, a single voice calling me to the present.
My swim was short, more like a dip, and I paddled in circles and dove under three times like a lost seal pup looking for its mother. Again the water freed me from myself, my burning stomach and delivered me into the new day, refreshed and happy.
My orange shirt served as my makeshift towel and my dog served as my makeshift lifeguard as I put my trust in the sanctuary of the water again to buoy my spirits.
P.S. I do hope for a bit more sleep tonight…
Mary Swims 
🎀🌸🛌🌸🎀