Above Back Beach in my seaside town a massive formation of large stones, boulders, and chunks of granite from nearby quarries cascades from the walkway to the sand below. Light and shadow play across it in various ways and bring out the blues and grays as the day and weather change. At very high tides and during rainstorms some of the rock is almost black. Snow makes its way into the many crevices during a storm and leaves behind a coat of sparkling white. Yesterday, the entire face was lit by full sun, and I watched as one young person scampered up the craggy hill like a mountain goat while another ran straight down with arms held out like wings.
How I would love to be able to do either of those things. Or skip stairs to the library as I used to do or even have more spring in my step. The fact that I can walk here at my own pace and feast on the vast seascape before me, watch a family of ducks paddling in the shallows, and seagulls swooping down to clean the sand or to stand sentry is one consolation. Having the time in which to contemplate all of these things is another.
This is not the first post in which I have spoken about being grateful for the capabilities we still have during our later years of life and about making adjustments for the ones we don’t. I may never paint a mural (was this really a dream?) or be able again to do on-sight research for an historical novel set in a far-off land, or have work in various stages of completion on three easels. But I can use the creative tools and energy left to me to fashion new and manageable dreams and to bring them to life.