The summer of 2022 in Nova Scotia gave us exemplary, spectacular weather.
September raised the bar with beautiful warm days, leaning into its East Coast pattern of saving its grandest days for the fall season.
To soak in the ocean’s warmest time capsule of the year, I walked on a different beach for several consecutive days – all within an hour’s drive from home.
Calm waters (typical before a storm); beaches littered with rocks. Only one treasure chosen to add to the collection on my window sill.
I grew up in the Prairies. After living here fifteen years I still pinch myself in wonder, thankful to experience the power and constancy of the tide and discover its offerings left in the sand.
Beach excursions are typically therapeutic but these walks were especially invigorating: inhaling salty air, exhilarating to feel my physically stormy spell coming to an end. (Some of that experience is shared here and here if you want some back story.)
I have a stack of books on my desk; actually, several stacks. A motley mix of how-to’s, devotional, writing resources, adventure and non-fiction, and two volumes of poetry – the last two written by a friend I’ve known since childhood. Kay now lives on the opposite coast of Canada, by the Pacific Ocean: we haven’t seen each other for a very long time, years that have held significant changes and challenges for us both. Thanks to Covid’s nudge for re-connecting and our kindred passion for writing we occasionally shoot off an email.
I appreciate Kay’s poetry that I can understand (which isn’t always the case in this genre!) and especially resonate with how she relates to nature – the birds, the decaying leaves, the clouds, and the tide. These bring life and hope to her spirit, as they do for mine. With Kay’s permission I’m sharing her poem The Tide is Out. Thank you Kay for this metaphorical angle I hadn’t thought of before.
Dear friends, keep on searching and believing for the treasures.
Be well, with love