It’s odd when you realize how poetic you get whenever you talk about your favorite place. Mine seems to radiate smells of noxious fish and decomposing aquatic life; yet I find myself sitting there, basking in the sunlight and nose-offending odors, as if I myself were in a giant stir fry of the sea, the sun, and decomposition of life itself. To most, the odors would drive them away from the place where sea is held back from the land, but I find myself drawn to it. The giddiness I feel whenever I see it, just rising from the horizon as I approach, is inexplicable. As my feet touch the ever-changing, flowing particles of crushed stone, a lightness fills me. Spreading from my feet all the way up to my head, the tips of my fingers, my nose; the lightness turns to energy. Pure, unadulterated energy. As the walk I had seemed to achieve transformed into a run, the energy turns into static, and my body turns into no-see-ums, flying in the breeze and spinning. Creating a dance that moves and flows like the liquid nearby, forward and back, lapping at the granules of ancient sand and worn glass. As static-foot touches warm stone, my body fuses back together and I climb the steep hill of smoothed down, yet still rough broken-down boulders. Unshod feet touch comforting, sturdy baby-boulders, and my body automatically starts to climb to the top. The sights aren’t that great at the beginning, seeing that you are a mere four feet or so from the small, granulated stone pieces, but as I rehearse my dance with the stones, jumping and sprawling across them with ease, it gets, stunningly, much more charming. The salt-tinged liquid makes beautiful melodies as it navigates through the cracks and holes between moulded-together stone, creating creeks and, eventually, having reached its final destination; the shoreline. Walking for what seems like miles, finally ending up at the end of the moulded sculpture, I sit down and lay there. My arms and legs spread, seeping in the warmth from every possible angle, breathing in the salty breeze. My eyes see an array of puffy marshmallows, accented with hints of pink, purple, and various shades of orange and red. I take a deep breath, letting out my worries and fears in a sigh; the sea has always calmed me. The taste on my tongue is a mixture of fish, the sea itself, and the chicken fingers being cooked up by a nearby snack shack. Sitting up, I bask in the way that the stone feels against my skin; hard, firm, but warm and comforting. Slowly being worn away by the water’s constant lapping at it, begging to be let into the overflow-areas of the shore. Time and time again, I have explored the roots of the stones, jutting up from the floor of the ocean, hiding and housing its creatures within, as if the rocks themselves were their mother. This mass of broken-down mountain formed into a beautifully elegant bridge has a name that fits its magnificence; a Jeti. The jeti houses me from the water, protects me, lets me play on her. Yet the Jeti protects herself, too. Housing barnacles is only one way that Mother Jeti defends herself, making sure that passer-bys stay on their toes, as to not catch their feet on them, for painful cuts and bleeding shall ensue soon after if they do. I need not worry about the dangers of my Mother Jeti, for I have navigated her hard and scaly vessel since I was a wee child. My feet have toughened enough to not get hurt by her sharper edges, My muscles remember each divot, nook, and cranny engraved within her scaly skin. I know her weakest parts, and her strongest. I know, that if the wind blows just right, and the tide if far enough out, she sings to you; a melodious tune of lapping waves, hungry seagulls, and the swift, quick movement of wind through all of her cracks and holes. She makes a beautiful melody, a melody to lull and comfort all of her children into a blanket of safety and warmth. When it becomes my time to go, I say”Goodbye, Mother Jeti, I wish to see you soon.”, and swiftly retrace my steps backwards, turning into no-see-ums and departing, flying into the breeze, until I return yet again.
A poem-essay I did on the land I love. enjoy.
