Sea Bricks

Of late, I have spent a lot of time staring at this computer screen- for a variety of reasons. None of which have involved blogging, obviously. So after work on Monday, despite feeling achy and cranky, I headed up the hill for some fresh air. I had written it in my calendar: "400:-5:30, go outside. Seriously." If it's written on the calendar, you have no choice but to obey, right? For a while, I have been longing to really go adventuring- to a place I am less familiar with, but with limited daylight and energy the landing at the Point is a pretty decent compromise.

Happily the familiar quickly becomes more interesting when you stray from the path. Part way to the dock, I looked out at the ebbing tide as it pulled away from a surprisingly sandy strand. It had been a very warm day (almost forty degrees), and I was thinking "huh, maybe it's time for another dip." I ambled down to the shore, knelt at the edge of the water and stuck in my hand.

Well, hell. A month ago it seemed much warmer. But then a month ago we hadn't had any sustained hard cold. Almost as soon as I submerged my hand, I pulled it right back out, bright pink with pain. Oh well, spring's not far, and I did in fact go in January.

There are other amusements that require less fortitude. Gauging the quality of the gravel, I switched my attention to finding beach glass. Secretly? I'm an adept. It had been a long time since I'd done any serious looking- since I'd even been on the right kind of beach. And this was a nice little section. Everybody's got their favorite pieces, right? I myself am fond of pieces that look like chunks of ice. So I was pleased when- thinking about this preference- I immediately spotted a such a piece. In winter it's especially fun, because correctly distinguishing ice-like glass from actual ice is a challenge.

For a good half-hour I paced, filling my pocket. And then I found a bit that was deep turquoise. Finding a cobalt is nice, but this color- it was a color I had never found broken on a beach. This might even be more rare than a true red.

But it still had an edge. And so I had to make a decision.

It barely made a splash as it hit the water.

So the contents of my pocket stayed uniformly pastel. Well. Not entirely. This beach had bricks. The softest looking bricks- surfaces worn quite smooth- more akin to sponge than stone. Salty to the taste. First one pocket sagged. Then another.

At this point, the light was beginning to play out, and I had yet to reach my destination. I climbed back up to the road and made my way to the Point's landing, which offers a nice view down the thoroughfare, and of the sunset over the back of Kimball's Island. It rests on a massive granite foundation as if it were a set for an insurance ad; the lumber is stained beige, the fascist color of summer colony decor. This intrusion into the tidal zone is as cliche as the town dock, with its rotting pilings and rickety winch. I guess they are both honest.

We've had more snow, and sleet, and ice. The slats on the dock were slick, and despite my yax trax, my distance from the edge, and the railing, I could still see myself plunging into that unrelentingly frigid water, still near the high tide mark. Looking down I gauged the distance I would have to swim, the time it would take, and the weight of my clothes. Goner. Moreover, if I fell in such a sheltered spot they might find my body.

And the bricks.

Funny: she had just made plans to do some more Algebra tutoring. Funny: the expression-obsessed left no note. But she had bricks in her pockets... Who knows what sorrow drove her to it? Wait- didn't her ex-boyfriend give her a brick last Christmas?

The bricks and I made it home, safe and sound. They are sitting next to me right now, pleasing to the touch, and in no way complicit.