If we could . . .

I have just spent three days walking a few of the many Nova Scotia beaches. They are quite incredible, breathtaking, soul-soothing.
I think a love of water is in the blood of most of us who grew up around and in Fort Frances and it would be easy to take that fresh water for granted in its abundance were it not so wired into our souls.
An ocean has a louder and bigger story perhaps, but no more meaningful than the water of Rainy Lake or of the Rainy River that hurried past my childhood.
I walked the long expanse of beaches with hardly another soul taking witness to the grand day, to the perfection.
It was hard not to feel like I was the only soul left on earth; an incredible experience in this world of excess, of crowds and of chaos.
For those moments of walking, my bare feet hardly making an imprint in the sand, I could forget about plastic in the oceans, of dying elephants and right whales, could forget about the melting polar cap and the severe weather.
It was just me on the beach, a single sea gull dismantling and devouring a small crab the waves and tide abandoned on the shore. The sun was bright, but not overpowering, the sky an uninterrupted blue.
What could possibly be wrong in such a paradise? Everything seemed as if it was in the right place.
I walked without making a sound, the wind keeping my hair off my face, the water rolling over my feet and ankles making me shiver.
I collected the odd abandoned clam shell and the perfect stone for my collection. And I walked and walked and walked, never wanting to come to the beach’s end and in some cases the beach stretched beyond two kilometres.
The sea cared not for my failings, the wind blew away the regrets, the sand held no measure of judgment.
I was just me, perfectly imperfect me, no more valuable or less than anything else that graced the moment, the place.
If we could all walk the sand, the length of our stride and the imprint of our foot our own, or paddle a canoe across the dark quiet cool lake, our paddle dipping in all but silently.
We would run into the waves if we were children, undaunted by the water’s temperature, fun being the only requirement.
Blessed. That’s how we would feel and as we headed home we would turn our attention to repaying the breathless restoring moment as best we could.
wendistewart@live.ca