The soccer fields are coated in a thick layer of white frost, so are the paddocks and everything else that I pass as I head towards the ocean. I’m wearing layer upon layer of clothing and wriggle my toes in my shoes to try and warm them up a bit
2 Comments
On the darkest day of the year. It's the lowest of low tides, the greyest of grey skies, the coldest of cold water. The reeds emit the pungent smell of low tide and the colour of the water is black.
I glance up at the tide clock on our wall as I make sandwiches to go in the lunchboxes to go in the school bags. It's almost high tide. On the radio I hear the first snow report for the season, they're expecting a blizzard and 45 - 90cm of snow fall over the weekend in the mountains. I pull my jumper down over my hands to protect my fingers from my cold steering wheel. I start driving and see that one of the herds of dairy cows are in their paddock closest to the road, I notice their companionship. I clench my fists to try and make my purple fingers a bit warmer. The sand under my feet is cold, they warned me about this, the cold sand. The water brings relief as a wave rushes over my feet. It’s warmer in than out. A sea eagle majestically and effortlessly glides and circles overhead, I look up to watch it and as I do I can feel some rain drops on my cheeks.
I lift my pack up onto my knee and then heave it around onto my back, it weighs down on my shoulders but it’s not too heavy. I reach for the waist strap and go to clip it up but it doesn’t reach, I mutter “who’s been wearing my pack”, I loosen it and then loosen it again when I realise it’s me who’s been wearing my pack, ten years and three babies ago. The rain sprinkles on my windscreen but by the time I get to the river it’s sunny. The water temperature is cool but bearable and I tentatively wade over to the beach. The sand is rain beaten and still has the pattern on it from the night before. The sun is bright and I'm hot in my wetsuit so I run into the sea and duck under a wave. The ocean water is much warmer than the river, I'm comfortable. I choose to stay right where the waves are breaking. It's dark when I dive underneath them and a few times I get tumbled by their strength.
I can feel the chill on my nose and cheeks and compare it to the comfort and warmth of the rest of my body that is under my doona. My six year old has come in and snuggled up to me and fallen back asleep. She’s in her first year of school and she’s tired. I bring her uniform in and get her dressed and then bring her favourite porridge and feed it to her while she’s in my arms under the blankets. It’s a special moment and I wonder if she’ll remember times like this later in life. It doesn’t last long, the boys are poking each other, I’ve asked my nine year old to put his shoes on four times, my ten year old to brush his teeth, there are bumps in my six year old socks and pineapple juice all over the kitchen floor with an increasing amount of footprints. I lose it and two out of three are crying. We regather and we’re all happy as I drop them off at school.
It’s sunny and high tide. The river is full of ocean water which means a more comfortable water temperature, it’s not as hard to get in this morning. The tide is on it’s way out, but only just, so I decide I’ll try to swim against it. It’s hard. It makes me think of things in life that you really want to change but there’s nothing you can do to make the situation different. The building force of this moving water is something that I will never control.
|
AuthorKirrilee Archives
September 2018
Categories |