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Journal of a Sabbatical | |||||
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August 29, 1998 |
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surf | |||||
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Copyright © 1998, Janet I. Egan |
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A lot of people had the same idea. What struck me about the crowd gathered to watch waves break over rocks, was how coupled they were. Long-married elderly couples, teenage couples in the throes of first love, couple with young children, lesbian couples, gay couples. Everybody in couples with or without children and golden retrievers. As if somehow the intensity of the surf recharges the intensity of their bond, their passion for each other. Where were all the lone artists and philosophers come to commune with the power of nature? A line of cormorants sliced the hazy sky midway above the water just before sunset, their black bodies against the pale sky like a Japanese brush painting. Herring gulls broke the spell with raucous disputes over food and territory. A blonde boy of no more than 4 years old did a perfect herring gull scream. The gull responded. They screamed back and forth to each other until the gull ceded the rock and boy climbed up in triumph. The boy's parents held hands as they walked to the car. Touching Nancy's hand, I felt an electricity I remembered from when we first met. We watched the waves turn a luminous green just as they broke and both said the green felt like fiddle music. We pretended the gulls were exotic pelagic species blown in by the hurricane. The wind changed and we got cold. Dinner afterward at Seaport Tavern in Wickford felt like breakfast after a long morning of lovemaking. | |||||
The one major thing Nancy wanted to do today
was to view the alleged big waves generated by Hurricane
Bonnie. Bonnie turned out to sea and declined to brush the
Rhode Island coast, but the surf at Beavertail Light was
still bigger than usual.