When I lived away from home, inland in the valley, missing the home of my spirit on the coast, I reflected often on the many
sights I had gloried in there.
There were also the sounds of home in
that beautiful place, that echoed within me always: rain pelting against the
windshield through the mountain passes,
the swish-swish-swish of the windshield wipers: going home, going home!
Enya on the car stereo, wind lashing the tall, gnarled pines at the highway’s
edge, the sudden shock of a rock flung upward – crack! – and you slowed right
down, heart beating fast. The joy of heading home – Home! – the very word a
triumphant smile inside. Loving every inch of the highway that took me there.
It’s the sound of waves coming in like jet planes at
South Beach in winter storm, walking a deserted shore, a gull flying by at
shoulder-height, feeling like I was in an outtake of Jonathan Livingston
Seagull, the film that began my odyssey to the sea so many years ago. It’s the
piercing shriek of an eagle’s cry, the raucous keening of the gulls massing on
the sandbar at Combers, facing the sea, the signal a storm was coming; the bossy
caw of the town crows, begging for scraps on the common. It’s the locals dressed
as crows, cawing “happy solstice” to a crow-loving friend, on their knees
around her, cawing upwards, her laughing face lit by candle glow. It’s the
scold of a stellar’s jay on the rough-planked deck, Mozart wafting through the
open cabin window. It’s the midnight storm lashing the cabin walls, waves in
full fury against the dunes out front, me snug in bed and listening.
Those years away, home was within, the sound of
my beloved waves, forever advancing and retreating in my heart.
313 words for Telling Tales with Magaly at Poets United on Sunday: Away From Home
I'm an ocean-lover too, and spent six years living by it, so I resonate with every delicious word of this! Best of all I loved the sound of the surf at night. I can't be too far away from it (and I'm not) but I'm even more a river-and-mountains girl, so now I live half an hour (by car) inland. Where I live is perfect for me ... and that includes frequent visits to the shore.
ReplyDeleteAll those years you held home within you, Sherry. You always knew in your heart, I think, that eventually you would return. I enjoyed all of the details you included - and yes, Enya, on the car radio! Those were the days. A beautiful piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful write, my friend. You have me thinking about what I feel and remember at the word home. Not all that different from your own, just more trees and huge boulders, and yes, the sound of the waves.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
Home is carried in the bones. That is what this piece makes me feel. And I so believe that feeling. Not just because it's true for me, too, but because your joy when you write of it is contagious!
ReplyDeleteAlso, I will carry the image of people "dressed as crows, cawing 'happy solstice'" in my heart for a while.
Her face was so happy in the candle glow. Sadly, she died young, of lupus.
ReplyDeleteI love the sea too. I’m originally a city girl but the first cottage I bought in Norfolk was right by the sea and I walked out dog jasper on the beach very morning and evening. I used to love the sound of waves when I hung out washing on the line and the call of seagulls – not the deposits they left on my clean linen!
ReplyDeleteOh Sherry this is incredibly poignant!💖 I love the "swish-swish-swish of the windshield wipers: going home, going home! Enya on the car stereo, wind lashing the tall, gnarled pines at the highway’s edge," there is seriously no place like home.💖
ReplyDeleteThough I am not a great sea lover this piece brought home to me a different, exotic world; so full of life and vivacity and joy. When you utter 'home' it has the expanse and depth of a sea. So beautiful Sherry!
ReplyDeleteIt sounds beautiful. I've only seen the ocean a couple of times in my life. I can relate to driving along with the windshield wipers on. A lovely thought!
ReplyDeleteThis piece just twirls with joy. I can't help but think of my favorite places and how my heart dances at the first sights, sounds, and smells of my favorite places.
ReplyDeletehome is certainly where the heart is.
ReplyDeletei just adored this prose piece that you wrote. A sense of joy is there, as perhaps a feeling of longing.
I hung on to every word, not only because I love the ocean, the coast, too. But the wonderful flow of your story and the vivid images; "the swish-swish-swish of the windshield wipers: going home...! Simply beautiful write!
ReplyDeleteSherry- you cast a magical spell with your words, and I there, hearing every sound. Love it!
ReplyDeleteThose waves never left you - I picture you always in a dual manner - running in cool woods and at the sea.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely piece. Yes, there's no place like home and we carry it in our hearts. I too am an ocean lover but I am also like you, a lover of the deep forests. I hope you never have to leave home again.
ReplyDeleteSo descriptive, your words a pallet from where images flow.
ReplyDeleteThere is nothing quite like living by the sea as the susurrating sound is a constant friend that both excites you and lulls you to sleep. You related this piece so beautifully Sherry.
ReplyDeleteThis brought me right to the beach (for which, thank you). Concentrating on the sounds draws me into the images.
ReplyDeleteLuv your introductory photo, its spirited and says Sherry and supports your story so well
ReplyDeleteHave a nice week
Much🕊❤🕊love
Home is deeply rooted in the spirit. You carried it with you where every you were. I'm so glad you are again at the place your soul begged to return to. It sounds beautiful.
ReplyDelete