I thought I'd forgotten how to get in The Bay; I thought I'd never regain my confidence.
Since my mother's passing I have felt less and less like forcing my body into extreme sensations, such as plunging my body into 40 degree water. There was something in it that had simply lost it's excitement for me. There had been enough shock for one year of my life; and I could be patient and still with myself, my body, my spirit.
Today I was so surprised as I stripped down to place myself in Straight Bay. With seals, children and friends looking on I removed my clothing and picked my way down the rocks. The children were busy being timid, exploring and giggling together. The adults enjoying the light raindrops mixed with sun on their flesh. I dipped my toe in The Bay, not so cold.
Then I waded along through the seaweed, feeling the memory of this cold salt water on my bare flesh and felt the surge of excitement that comes with cold cold waters. I waded forward and submerged my thighs. A wrong step found my hips submerged and I happily stood with water around my navel in those icy waters.
This must be what peace feels like; this must be what coming home is.
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