067: the secret beach

We found it, just like that. An overgrown, barred-off trail wound between tipping fence-slats and low dunes, past a stack of faded yellow-and-orange canoes, into a hushed cove. High houses on all sides, castles of the town’s wealthy and long-settled; us, smaller than sand-grains. We walked down the damp sand to the water, snaking among seaweeds and strewn mussels, crossed to a lip in the careening wall of rock that rounded the land’s edge. A nook in the rock, a wide chair, sun-warmed—we nestled there, dazed in the sun, dreaming of summer.

066: april

I feel empty today. Hollowed out, like a gourd with its insides scooped. Because anxiety took me over and left me feeling like a shedded skin, my living self gone elsewhere.

I left work and the streets were flowing with people, but once I got through the alley the world went quiet. The only sound the faint squeaking of wheels––a boy riding his bike in circles on the pavement. I went up the stairs, felt weary and hot. Came into my darkened living room, cast off my shoes, opened the lefthand glass door. Let the unforgiving air pour in.

065: yellow room

He brought me hot coffee as I awoke. Then he joined me under the covers and we sat there, nestled in the pillows, leaning back against that massive ornate headboard, and we sipped our coffee and ate our cranberry orange muffin and almond croissant (trying not to get crumbs in the sheets). The room was quiet, the house was quiet––the light was coming in, painting the room yellow, and as I lay there next to him with my sweets and my searing hot coffee, I said, “The next time I’m anxious, I’m going to think back to this moment.”