Moving through the woods on the cusp of dawn, my senses were under siege from the sounds and scents found there. I broke through the silken bars of webs, built for much smaller game than me. The wardens of the silk prisons, still coddled by the crisp pre-sun air were disgruntled at this most obtrusive wake-up call. I wreaked havoc on their domain on the way to where the forest, sand and water meet. Perhaps there was a twinge of remorse, or not.
I saw the story in the silver birch and white pine. They stood together in a crowd, seeking the light, side by side. They seemed glad in the twining together of their trunks and branches. They are secure and strong. The whisper of the barely there leaves called me towards the edge. My breath caught at the sight of the early sun making a golden puddle on the lake’s wrinkled surface. I heard, before seeing, the plop of a seagull as it dove for breakfast.
I shucked my sandals and moved to the water’s edge. The sand moguls crunched and flowed under my steps. How I love that sensation. The history of the earth is there, right under feet and hands. Every grain of sand, every shell, every stone has a story to tell.
I eased myself down on a discarded beach towel and revelled in the changing palette of the sunrise. The sun warmed my face as my mind drifted to memories of you. I heard your giggles dancing across the ripples on the water. We were building drippy sand castles. We talked, laughed and yes, concentrated on the task at hand. Walking the shore line, your tiny, somewhat gritty hand in mine you asked important questions. “Mommy, when you die, can I have those rings?” I said I hoped she didn’t mind waiting for a long time, but yes, she could have them. She smiled that world lighting smile, and my heart blew up. To myself I whispered, “My darling daughter, whatever is in my power to give you, it’s yours”.
My “I love you baby girl” floated on the morning breezes as I took my leave of our special place. Sometimes there is peace there.