Salt water and frozen toes

The dock at my school was my favorite place to study, to rest, to meditate, to think.  It gently bobbed, our school boat, The Borealis, next to it, the dinghy providing a back rest when it was on the dock.  You could look out at Bar Island, where we swam at the start of term, and out further were the Porcupine Islands, named (from left to right), Sheep, Burnt, Long, and Bald.

Sitting on the edge I’d dip my toes in, and breathe deeply the scent of the summers of my childhood, salt and sun and sweat.  But it was different in Maine than in Los Angeles.  There’s the woods mixed in, no grit of sand under your feet, and the water is never as warm.

That dock has memories of a hundred different things.  The night my grandfather died I went to the dock and cried.  Sweet kisses and holding hands in silence.  Amateur astronomy while we laid on our backs, the sky completely open to us and our interpretation.  Skinny dipping in the middle of the afternoon, the cold water enveloping our whole selves.  Waking up early to sit on the dock alone and just think.  My last day at college I said goodbye to the dock that had seen me through three big years of my life.


One Comment to “Salt water and frozen toes”

  1. Dock just went back in today. I think I’ll give it a shot for some senior project inspiration.

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