Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Dreams Beneath
I was thinking back to my fourteen year old self. I remember walking along the beach in West Cork in summer, picking up shells, discarding them if marred in anyway, looking at driftwood, seeing the pictures inside, bringing pieces back to our tiny rented cottage (parents, six children, 5 tiny rooms, no bathroom), my mother looking at me aghast:
And where do you think we'll find room for this?
Me finding a space over the cliffs in a difficult to access bay and finding a cave for my treasures, thinking:
Some day, I'll have the sound of the sea beside me all the time and my treasures will be part of my life.
I was walking along the beach with the dog today, we love this daily romp, she and I. She finds her own treasures (crabs not quite cleaned out by the gulls, unlicked clam shells) and I look for old glass and driftwood and feathers and shells. And my fourteen year old self presented herself and said excitedly:
Look, we made it happen, you and me!
And we brought our treasures home.
And together, we looked for the pictures.