Out here, on the blue seas of the coast
It seems that even within the woven fabrics of an early morning, the sun always lurks.
Even when the wind is absent, her breath lingers. Oh, of lingering breaths of wind that are colored by the scent of salt, sand, moist air and is ever so delicately warmed by a sun that always lurks.
This is how the morning begins or how the night ends, or this is how a boy by the coast sees the sea and follows familiar courses to the east.
It is early in the month of May, the air is still and it is dark. From out of a canal and into the freedom of a sound, the sun emerges, the sea is big and you realize you are out here.
Peace. Solitude. Comfort. Reflection. Depth. Forgiveness.
The water here is not a blue that is seen from places far away, and it is here that within an ocean is a river that is flanked by green water and only found out here.
It has been too long, but it is something to look forward to. It is something to remember, and one day my eyes, ears, tongue and touch may not function, but with hope I will recall what it is to be out here. Sharing.
Showing. Learning. Fishing. Hoping. Peace. Forgiveness.
Hooks are baited and lines are tight. The water here is a blue that is deep in azure and reflective like the blue eyes of a newborn child or of a first love. Out here, first love is second love, for first love is this river in the sea.
There is tension and commotion as a fish is on and, out here, so is the dance.
Strain. Quickness. Reflex. Stubbornness.
The fish is blue, purple, green, yellow and violet, and the freckles are a pink and blue that becomes brighter against this canvas of blue warmth. For a moment, the true colors of a dolphin-fish are appreciated and nature wonders us again.
Repeat. Wait. Strain. More colors. Another fish. More bait.
Out here, there is a safety that does not always mean buoyancy. One can release and let go, or one can hold on and let go.
Out here, the soul is safe and the sun an only witness.
One can become lost as easily as one might become found.
Answers. Questions. Replies. Reservations. Repeat. Hold on. Let go. Promise. Vow. Hope. Silence. Know.
There are more fish, and sometimes the hook may come loose — the sun does not judge and the river does not cease to flow, and out here there is more right than wrong. Patience passes the time from fish to fish, and then the wind that once whispered now speaks loudly.
Appreciation. Anxiety. Acceptance.
Like all the other paths we travel, eventually we will all leave places out here and return. Yet we are different, not better. We are changed, yet not concerned. We salivate.
There is an intimacy with fish caught here and enjoyed elsewhere, and each bite reminds us and sustains us.
Remember. Replay. Promise. Validate. Stare.
Oh, how one craves to be back here as much as one craves to never leave. The sight of land is both welcome and a reminder that soon, many miles and days will replace what is found and forgotten.
There are fish to clean and work to be done, and almost with a delicate grip, the sun refuses to release and bring darkness here.
Eventually, land surrounds. Though thankful, a first step onto weathered and worn planks beneath the various moods of the sun is jaded.
Longing. Lingering. Planning.
Tomorrow becomes a week. The water is blue. The fish sometimes bite. The sun lurks early and lingers late. Forgiveness, peace and the breaths of the wind are found out here.
Enjoy your time outdoors.
You may contact Jason Hawkins at firstname.lastname@example.org.