April 6, 2021

Spring unfolds, the water wrapping its magic around us

Warm air, neighbor children and smiles stroll together to the beach

We anticipate delights there

The moment is now, the birds twitter in the brush, the seagulls call us to the salty brine

In goes young C., fearless like his father of the cold water, pleased with his own comfort he announces his method, the word “acclimatize” rolling off his tongue like a brave song, unafraid to share his many observations or his grand wonderings about his cold water dip

If only we grown-ups could hold onto that pure bliss, pure honesty, open vulnerability and desire to share freely our deepest feelings, in the moment with such grace, such optimism

Big sister M. steps in, water to bare skin like her father, boldly accepting the exquisite cold liquid with no extra layer— save a loose towel she walked the journey to the beach in swim suit, barefoot, nothing more

C. and I in our seal suits sink in, we match, we look below through watery lenses

Together our pod of four sweeps along the shallows northward, over stands of young green seaweed, where Rock and Dungeness crab larger than my hand pick at the murky treats below us

Dave lifts one by its leg, sweeping it up to dangle gently before his son to study

“Is it a male?”

Yes

With a giggle and a one finger touch, C. connects with the creature, soft skin to hard leg

One toss and the crab returns to his work below

We turn back south, M. takes to the beach to study the ancient collage beneath her bare feet, thoughtful and quiet

I reach down and raise a pair of sunglasses sitting upon brown and fuzzy rocks in the shallows

“M! I found you a treasure!” I toss them towards her. They make a small splash near her.

She lifts them, smiling

I swim easily back to the landing, feeling my body unfurl like a leaf as the still water warmed by the sun sinks in through my layers of icy winter petals —the darkness and cold melting away, floating away behind me

I beam inside, as the promise of warm months ahead sinks in

I can wait a bit longer

I can unwind my tight spring

I can let go here

Oh how I missed this unfurling, the softness the body feels when swimming warm, the ease of melting into the waters from which we all come and must someday return

At the landing we part ways, Dave ushering his children home and I continue south, beating a rhythm of joy, my body rocking through the water alone under the April sun

Bliss

And the moonsnail nests are there too

One light yellow starfish shines below, a sign of hope and stark reminder of the millions lost

One is not enough—and then I spot another. Deep purple, the size of my hand.

I swim on and wonder whether they will return, the starfish, sea stars, sun stars

I will come back here and watch for them

I will count the stars one by one

I will keep my eyes open

New life comes, always

After the winter

After the darkness

When we release ourselves and float freely, quietly upon the sea

Thank the world for children

And star fish