September 19, 2021

It’s interesting, I think, my response to water. I feel the difference in the weight of waves. As a child I would float for hours, slipping back onto land only when wild arms stretched into sky and summoned me for dinner. I would walk barefoot back to the house, trailing my toes in the loose dirt of the road, the sun and shore behind me. We’d eat the fresh quahogs my brother and father and I dug out from wet sands of shallow sea. You could always taste the ocean in them, a buoyant brine softened by steaming broth and melted butter. Sometimes you would catch a grain of sand as you sipped from the shell and it would crunch between your teeth and take you back to your afternoon by the bay. 

- E.L.