way out on the end

Here is my little boat friend. Nothing’s moving but the wind through the grass and the undetected wobble on the surface of the water. This boat is steady and constant, anchoring me, helping me breathe fully and be here exactly, precisely for this moment. Things are as they should be. Take it in. I’m right here, I’m right here, I’m right here. And here, in this case, is Montauk. Sweet, breathtaking and bike-able (although some of my almost-stationary uphill peddling left something to be desired…).

 Earlier in the day, we rode all the way out to the lighthouse, my patient husband coaching me along. I could have fallen off the bike I was going so slowly up the hills. That would have been a first—falling due to slowness. Along the way, we took in the beautiful stream of green and horses and green again and finally sea on all sides. Sweet and salty old ladies were there to guide us up the scary spiral stairs to the top of the lighthouse. Looking out, we were at the end of the earth. Ready to begin again.

Cut back to my little boat friend. Here’s a view a little to the left of boat friend where the clouds crack open with sunset-i-tude. Over a luscious lobster dinner (the most deliciously casual, back deck, do-it-yourself lobster dinner I’ve ever had), the sun set with impossible grace and very little fanfare. Strange, how sunsets are both imperceptibly slow and inevitably fast. It takes so long, but then where does it go? There’s no way to linger.

Here is my little boat friend after the sun disappeared over the water. After an hour of dying, graying light, a brilliant pink-purple glow softened everything it touched.

Now I’m back home—no more boats, no more Montauk—and that open summer feeling of being held by the heat is hard to find. But when I feel my muscles tensing up (let go left palm, you don’t need to hold on so hard), I’ll have this mental image of my little boat friend. Breathe it in. And exhale, exhale, exhale. Thinking about it does change my body. My eyeballs release. My forehead lets go. My mouth gets a little dreamy. I’m right here. I’m right here. I’m right here.

I realize these posts are all out of order, time-wise, but then again, so am I. And it will always be so. Starting this project, I’m jumbled and giddy with tiny discoveries. And now that I’m really looking and writing with a reason, I see things everywhere. So I’ll be jotting things down and posting them as they come, and I’ll try not to get in my own way. Go forth, Good Spirit of Words! Tell the people what you find!