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Off Shore




Today is so laid back, it doesn’t even think of starting before ten hours have ticked by on the clock. Not that we observe the clock much, on such a pleasantly indolent day. Warm mist hovers over the horizon, a balmy breeze blows, the sun is testing its strength. It is a day designed for pottering or surfing. I think of the lovely waves, of being suspended between sea and sky, and the salt smell, and the joy of sitting on the beach, reclothed, warmed up, exhausted, looking at the ocean and my mind still playing in the waves. Tempting, but not the resting I’m supposed to be doing. If you don’t rest, you don’t get better. The best thing about being ill is the flood of happy relief when you get better. That’s the wave I decide to wait for, while I alternate an amble with a spate of sun lounging, while I watch the buzzard on the thermals, and my mind is paddling in a sea of possibility.
Mr has just lit the bonfire, so I’m going back outside now to stare at stars and fire sparks. 


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