Musings from a place by the sea

I have exchanged the farm for a small island retreat this week, as I have done at this time of year for the last four years. It is a place where the busy world seems to stand still for a while, where the mind comes to rest and thoughts turn inward. People come here to be nourished in body and soul, to meditate and write and simply 'be'. Meals are delicious, exclusively vegetarian, and during this week they are taken in silence to honour the needs of the participants of a silent meditation workshop. It is, as some tell me, a place for 'hippies', and most certainly as different from my usual environment as it can be.

                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I wake up this morning it is barely light, but from my window high up in Bluff House I can see that the tide is very low. It is a special gift when this doesn’t happen during the night, and I put on my jacket and rubber boots and walk down to the beach.

Not even the geese are awake yet, and the faint glow from the east that turns the smooth ocean into a sheet of muted light is hardly enough to see where I put my feet. I walk along the tide line, small piles of seaweed dropped haphazardly along its course by the receding water. In a little while the geese will be here, tousling the piles with their beaks, looking for food. So far it is very quiet. Only the regular heart beat of the ocean is keeping me company, small waves moving in, spending themselves with a little hiss on the shore, leaving only a trace of foam that will soon be gone.

With the growing light the world around me is waking up. A short unmelodious call makes me look up: my old friend, the heron, flapping overhead, neck curved and feet outstretched. He lands on one of the big rocks jutting out of the water during low tide.

Next are the geese, appearing out of nowhere, or so it seems: suddenly twenty or more of them are walking along the beach talking to each other in low voices. Yesterday afternoon they were gathered for a nap, all of them standing on one leg, head tucked under their wings.

It will be a little while longer until the bald eagle couple will appear. Yesterday morning I watched them glide overhead before they came to roost on one of the big evergreen trees along the beach. I’m always surprised that such big majestic birds can have such meek, high voices. The hawks that kept me company at home during harvest time sound much more sure of themselves. But maybe they don’t need big voices, maybe their size is sufficient to ensure their status at the top of the bird hierarchy. 

This place by the sea is once again folding me into its arms, nourishing me as it has done since I first came here.