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A Place to Write in the Summer Sun

(An essay on thoughts – for creative writing.)

 

Oh, if you can transport me there with a blink of an eye…

 

It will be a perfect place to create a masterpiece.

 

From, 6 to 18 years I lived with my family on an island. Cross the road, follow the path 20 feet to the beach.

 

The place is Fernwood Point, Salt Spring Island, B.C.

 

I can still picture the serenity of the sandy beach and the faint roll of waves aimlessly sneaking ashore.

 

Perched on a log that roared in on a winter storm months ago, with a notebook and pen I capture the tranquility.

 

The sun warms the sand as seagulls swoop in to feast on the smorgasbord of the shores wildlife. They echo their caws of delight and a few squabbles erupt.

 

Distant faint hum of an outboard motor reminds me I’m not alone.

 

The smell of the ocean air, breathe in, breathe out, I take another intoxicating breath. Has been far too long since I absorbed the aphrodisiac of the sea.

 

2 miles across the Trincomali Channel a pod of orca are pounding the waters as they travel south between the islands. I stand to get a better view. Minutes pass before they emerge from behind Wallace Island.

 

Winter at Fernwood Point

Winter at Fernwood Point

Immersed in reminiscing of childhood with my brother. Sweet thoughts. He taught me how to dig for sea worms, swim, paddle a canoe, and skip rocks.

 

Memories flood my mind…

 

Recalling the day we ventured out in the canoe. The cotton batten caulking failed, water was rising faster than I could bail. Scared we may have to abandon ship and grateful I knew how to swim.

 

Contemplated of how to explain to our parents why I resembled a drowned rat! Not to mention the canoe and my rubber boots were at the bottom of the ocean.

 

There was the day we put on our bathing suits, grabbed our towels and raced out the backdoor to go for a quick dip in the ocean. Abruptly aborted; a hornet stung my brother as we ran out the door. He is allergic and needed to go to the doctor instead.

 

Boat trips were an adventure. My parents packed a lunch and took us to secluded beaches. We loved exploring and finding new treasures to take home. They rowed the boat and threw in a few lines in hopes to catch fish. Salmon was the big prize if we were lucky.

 

As I sit here feverishly writing…

 

Melancholy slowly shrouds my brain…

 

Not all times were sunshine and carefree.

 

Days of gray waters and white caps. Icy cold winds. Snow-covered roads. Even the beach wasn’t spared from the wrath of winter.

 

The frigid winters remind me of one reason I left this paradise.

 

To sit by the ocean on a warm summer day has a calming effect. But frightful and overwhelming when the wind howls, and the sea beats against the rocks.

 

Take me back home.

 

I close my notebook and give one last glance to the azure sea.

 

 

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