A day just for me ....driving to the sea.
"One of these days" , I keep saying , I'm going to take a day just for me , maybe two or three ! When I do , I'm going to go down to the sea , maybe a small town in Maine and definitely on the coast , The first thing I'm going to do is not feel guilty about it ,.... yea right ! Once I'm settled in for the stay , I will go to the local pier and get my first view of the tides , of course I'll have my camera , my note pad and my sunglasses .
I will have no agenda what-so-ever , I will just wander and I will watch as the fishing boats slide in and out of the harbor , and the yellow jacketed fishermen make ready their catches of the day , I will stand at the bow of those that are tied to the piers and watch as the rolling wakes of those passing boats lift gently on the lines as the waves approach the piers , lifting the resting boats up and down , as the dock bumpers made from old tires squeak against the creosoted pier itself. The beautiful sun will reflect off from the windshields of the shifting boats and light up the reflections on the weather beaten , rough pine boarded walls of the shacks that set on the working piers . I have secretly always loved the working piers , maybe because I come from a working class of people , maybe it's because those very people that I did come from , were of the very sea itself.
Maybe I will see the resemblance of my people in the Scots-Irish fishermen and women of the small fishing village . As I wander about , I will become hungry for the fish maybe the white flaky haddock fillets , or maybe the deep fried big round sea scallops and French fries , or the white milky and thickened seafood chowders , I will sit outside at a picnic table and eat very slowly ,savoring the sweet morsels of the sea itself wondering how in the world my family ever left the shoreline and this idyllic lifestyle for the northern mountain valleys that I now call home , I know that as I sit there and relax , I will lose all track of time too , the seagulls will hover over the returning work boats squalling squealing and fighting each other for the remains of the day.
As the big sun sinks below the usual evening half-foggy cloud bank rolling in like the tides themselves , I will watch that sun hover over the islands as it dips all too quickly below that curve of a horizon . One by one the lights , the street lights , the house and the barn lights , the lights of the piers and the distant boats on the horizon ,will slowly blink themselves awake to stand guard over another evening , of course I will have to bring a jacket because at the northern coastline these same sea- winds slowly bring in a cool drifting air , a gift of the tides themselves. I may just sit there long after the sun goes down and listen to the same sounds without seeing where they now come from .
When I have finally had enough , I will return to my room and open the window , just so that I can still hear the distant fog-horns , the bells on the marker buoys out near the shoals and the sea gulls . I will fall asleep tired and yet rested as well , so much that I will just lay there in a half sleep , somewhere between a dream world and a state of awake , and I will still listen , I will still listen until it all becomes some part of my sub-conscience , Oh and I will rise from time to time to write things down , one or two lines at a time , the way that I do when I want to remember something , some though or rhyme , some vision of the day or of the night , so that when I return to this real world . I will have a thousand more memories to write about , or to simply ponder over from time to time .
"Yes , one of these days !"