By the Sea

Home.

It is so very, very lovely to be home.

It’s been awhile since we were last here  - a little blue house tucked away by the sea.  It seems like aeons. Already I can feel my breathing deepen as I settle down and send out damaged roots.

I have come to be very fond of our little Gippsland shack, but it’s not the same.

The space is different here, the smell of the sea, the sound of the sea. Even the wind sounds different. I can hear great gusts of it blowing in off the strait, rattling the doors and windows.

Lying in bed now, listening to Capercaillie, the wind easing through the open window, bringing with it the smell of brine.  The house is empty but for me and Issy. My Beloved has taken the kids to drop my mum off at the train station in Geelong.

And it feels a little like stepping back in time.

A little like the night before our wedding, when my Sprocket was still summersaulting within. A little like those months my Beloved and I spent here while I studied for my Teaching Grad Dip (and dreamed and puked as the Sprocket grew within me) A little like the year I spent just writing, me and my dog – a different dog, although equally tempermental. My beloved and I were married here and both the Sprocket and Poppet were Christened here. Their memories of here are not yet strong  -it’s been too far for us to come regularly - but they will be.

It is so easy tonight slip within a story, slip within a dream.

The world outside seems very far away. As always, the house seems disconnected from the world. Just me and frail wood afloat on the elements.

After a hot day spent driving, we went to the beach in the late afternoon and were caught in the storm as we returned. My Beloved put the Sprocket on his shoulders and carried the Poppet on his hip and we ran up the clay road to home with the lighting flashing and the rain belting down and the kids squealing with laughter.

And it was good to be home.

Home. Already my heart is breaking at the thought of leaving.

Although… it is true. The sea air is horrific for roses.  And I doubt I could plant my tulips here.