Today, I walked with the awareness that my glorious mornings here on this summer beach are finite, even though they seemed to stretch endlessly before me at the start of this year's stay. I am nearing, now, the end of my stay. I begin to remember the homecoming to river, the meadows, and to imagine myself walking there, instead of here, in just a matter of days, I'm counting them down now when Suzi and Charlie will wake up in their home beds and bound to the river for quick dips. The water level of the Charles will be summer low, the banks dry, and the canopy of the trees lush and tropical between the river's banks. The woods will be sticky and buggy. The meadows full of bright black eyed Susans, wet Queen Anne's lace, fresh daisies, lots of butter and eggs. The grass will be high, too high to walk through. I will miss the salt water under the sun on my skin; I will dip in a pool or the pond, and I will be happy and grateful to have had these walks. But I will miss the sea. I will miss the sea. I will miss the shore birds, these clay cliffs, these massive boulders, this frothy, surf, this slippery shore, and all the art the makers make from day to day for me to find and appreciate. Mostly, the smooth stones against the arches of my feet tripping along, easy street.
