On The Horizon

Georgia O'Keeffe, You Are The Sun, 1977

There are sailboats on the horizon in the morning. From so far away it looks as if they’re sitting still but I know once aboard you’d feel the movement beneath you’re body. We are moved even when no one else can see it. In the plain stark morning, the sea and the sky seem to be a pair of lovers reflecting one another. Waves roll in across the coast like corduroy.

He once whispered in my ear, “they come in sets of three’s and five’s. Then there is a break. There is always a break. You can count on that to catch your breath.” I could never imagine myself out there waiting in the water for waves to come, no matter how many times I watched from the shoreline.

Lately, I think is this the break? Is this the part where I catch my breath? Is it why I feel so still and worry I will never move again? I tell him from the shower, I just don’t recognize myself sometimes. I don’t have to see his face to know this is disappointing. If I’ve learned anything this year it is how easy it is to disappoint other people, simply by being yourself.

I try to imagine myself a year ago and the things I knew and didn’t know and the thing I could sense but didn’t want to look at. I try to reach back through time and tell her it’s going to be ok, and it’s not going to be ok. And then I think of myself a year from now and I try to reach forward and ask her the same things. We so often forget who we are becoming. I tell myself I’ll have to work harder this time to make sure she is alright.

The gravitational pull of the moon creates waves. There is something mysterious about that. Perhaps that’s why when the good ones came they always felt heaven sent. Perhaps that’s why we pulled over and watched them for hours. They were sent to us by the moon.