Miss the Ocean

Can't believe I've not been in the lake all summer.

Can't believe how long it's been since I've been in the ocean.

I need the water. Maybe I'm a different kind of Big Fish, and I just begin to dry out. Maybe if I'd lived nearer to the water, I'd be in it often enough that I wouldn't miss it. But miss it I do, and I don't understand why.

It's where I belong. I'm not saying it's wrong for me to be here, but rather that there, that's the only word for it. I'm under the surface, and I belong. I'm comfortable there. I'm at peace. I'm home.

I don't know where it comes from. I've been raised in a family of runners, not mermaids. I don't even swim all that well, though I'd certainly like to. I've no explanation for what is, I only know what is.

When there's water nearby, I'm drawn to it. Not these little puddles, but great enough that you can see the way the light falls into it. I'm drawn to the mystery of dark waters that could be any depth and obscure any strangeness, but if they're clear enough that I can see what lies beneath, see the way the water moves, the light moves, imagine the feeling and the sounds once I'm down there - it's an overwhelming desire to be there. If I can see into the water, see that it can cover me and hold me, and I can play around down there and rest - I have to be there.

Most fascinating to me was a reservoir my Dad took us to. Much of the area around his hometown is riddled with granite quarries - this one had simply filled up over time. Two hundred feet deep, mostly straight walls, incredibly clear. From that experience, there's a picture or two of me diving as deep as I dared, to where you can just barely see the tone of my skin against the black of the depth (my suit is black and blue - doesn't help so much). It's an unreal feeling there, to be away from everyone else, and no one can catch you.

There's a dream I had once, that I dove down deep there, deeper than I'd ever gone before. Before, I'd always been afraid to swim too far down, because I couldn't see. Now, it didn't matter - I was where I belonged, and no one else could catch me, because they were all up top, within the first ten feet of the water, and they were too afraid to go down. And then I heard a shout, and running, and he came down in a strong, powerful dive. I don't know now who he was, but I knew him then. He's a better swimmer than I, and wasn't going to lose me - and he knew, if I swam as far down as I could go, that they'd never get me back. He's the one who caught me, and since he caught me, he could bring me back.

I don't understand my fascination with the water, with watching the waves and looking out to the sea. Maybe there's a secret in the mist, or maybe I just don't understand the ocean and want to puzzle it out. I do understand my obsession with not being captured. I'm not ready yet. There's still something more I have to do. And even then, I'll be a runner.

But given the choice of trail, I'd be where the woods meet the ocean, running fast along the side.