The Coast

I wrote this once. I posted on this same picture once before, too. But this essay was written before that. I just didn't post it here. But I was thinking about it now, thinking about this memory, and I decided I wanted to post it.

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I could stare at this picture forever.

The white foam of the receding tide retreating from the frozen sand, a glassy surf left in its wake. A mirror to the dusk Maine sky.

The frozen coast silently following the shoreline, curving to the treacherous rock peninsula where chilling waves violently crash day after day.

The expensive, coast-side houses cowering below the expansive, rainbow-colored sky, already nearing dark despite the mid-afternoon hour.

She stands on the edge of the photo, stealing a glance at the camera. The collar of her heavy coat reaches up towards her ears, protecting from the twenty-degree air. She wears two hats: the bill of her beige cap hides one eye, while a dark stocking doubles over the cap for extra warmth. Her lone visible eye smiles in the camera’s direction, right above the slight, dimpled grin. There’s not much of her to be seen, but the small patch of face that shows reveals the gentle, beautiful soul buried within the heavy clothes.

I tell her it is the best picture I’ve ever taken. She shrugs off my comment and keeps walking along the stiff sand, piercing the frigid wind. She acts annoyed; I’ve been running alongside her ever since we punched through the foot of snow at the dune, snapping random shots of her, of us. But she’s not really annoyed.

The wind numbs our faces as we push on towards the setting sun. The departed tide has left pools along the coast, frozen pools now. The thin ice disappears in the dark, only visible when the twilight skates across its surface. The snow has been stolen away by the tide, but the dunes beyond the tide’s reach are still hidden underneath a pile of the previous day’s precipitation.

Though the biting cold threatens to turn us away, we continue on as if there were a final destination within reach. But there isn’t. Maybe we’re just too scared to turn away from that sunset. The quiet colors of the sky and the hushed flow of the ocean have entranced us, such that turning back seems senseless for the moment.

“I love you.” Sometimes we can’t say it enough. But it’s not forced; love is not something to be expressed out of necessity. It’s something that bursts from you because you take such pleasure in saying it, in doing it, in living it. And especially in these moments, there are simply no words to describe what you feel other than “I love you.”

We’ve stopped walking. The rocks loom in front of us, so beautiful despite their menacing stature. Not worth risking it.

She turns to make the trip back along the beach. I grab her sleeve and pull her towards me, not ready to leave this moment. She smiles. She’s used to this. Our lips have been numbed by the wind, their bond absent from our sense. But we simply want to be held by each other.