I’m looking for a red tent. Would anybody be kind enough to lend me their red tent? I’m a woman in disguise, covered by a scarf, in need of a retreat. Where I can expand, lay loose, cry if I want to cry?
A stationary woman with open, unmoving eyes.
The crowd and people move around her. She sits in a kitchen chair and sips a cup of coffee. And the kids dance by her. And the adults carry on conversations about real estate, education, song writing and lox.
And the day goes on without her. She stays still, waiting for time to release her from the pain that encapsulates her body.
“Nobody ever wins a medal for enduring pain.” She was told by an empathetic soul.
I pondered this thought as I walked towards the bay. The waves painted the sand dark shades that quickly disappeared with the ebb. Feet molded to the sand with each step towards Great Island. Ankles soft, feet leaning, sideways seeming, awkward sand stepping. Waking up all the muscles in my feet and legs.
“Hmmmmm, ahhhhhhh” describes the fresh, salty air infiltrating my lungs and returning back to the sky. I need this. To get out once a day. To just move for a little bit. It’s getting out the door that’s the most difficult part sometimes.
and the victorian houses. With beautiful shutters. Some pink, with matching pink doors. And lamp posts. And porches with beautiful pillars. Old beam supports. Picket fencing surrounding the properties. And church bells.
Church bells sing a song that lasts for ages drawing the locals to God’s house. Must be hard to consciously dart church in this small town. The bells are impossible to avoid. And a second church lives 3 doors down and doesn’t have any bells. One woman stands by the door and tries to seem more welcoming than the man in the suit underneath the bells. I wonder if one church became two and began a fleetian civil war. I won’t stick around long enough to find out.
That’s the bittersweet reality of travelling. Arriving, exploring, dreaming, imploring. We learn and discover as much as we put in the time to invest. A city can seem the most beautiful in the world to us after only being there for hours. But when we spend months there, the city loses its’ magic. The street names are learned, and the shop owners begin to recognize us. This small oceanside town’s magic will remain with me for a while.
One more day of shmoozing and bagels. Walking and philosophizing. Meeting, greeting, and trying to feel at home. But a traveller always finds ways to feel at home wherever they go.
Right now, I’m looking for a red tent to find comfort in. I think my ladies are downstairs. Maybe we can erect a tent in the middle of it all and hide in energetic conversation with each other.
Appreciating my friends in the world~