Fiona, thank you for this-- your experiences seeing these birds so close must have been amazing, as your spending time in your youth sailing on the Gulf Coast surely must have been too. I am a failed surfer -- I never could stand up -- but I have always loved the ocean: swimming in it, walking along it, looking for gifts washed up on the…
Fiona, thank you for this-- your experiences seeing these birds so close must have been amazing, as your spending time in your youth sailing on the Gulf Coast surely must have been too. I am a failed surfer -- I never could stand up -- but I have always loved the ocean: swimming in it, walking along it, looking for gifts washed up on the shore. I am now landlocked, though -- first by chance but now by choice.
I'm a failed surfer too, Bruce. But I could handle myself in heavy surf just fine—spent many days, long hours a day, swimming in big breakers off Texas beaches. I'm not quite landlocked these days, but I'm disabled by knee injuries. I may get back to sailing some day, but I have no hope of ever being able to keep upright in the swirling sand and vortices of strong currents in the waves.
It's OK, though. I'm good at surfing on my memories. =smile=
I'm sorry to hear that you can't wrestle with the waves now, and hope that will be sailing again soon. I'm actually more nervous on a boat than in the water, and I'm suddenly reminded of the disconcerting opening lines of Laura Jensen's poem "Bad Boats", from her book of the same title (this is from memory, so I may have forgotten the line breaks and punctuation):
Fiona, thank you for this-- your experiences seeing these birds so close must have been amazing, as your spending time in your youth sailing on the Gulf Coast surely must have been too. I am a failed surfer -- I never could stand up -- but I have always loved the ocean: swimming in it, walking along it, looking for gifts washed up on the shore. I am now landlocked, though -- first by chance but now by choice.
I'm a failed surfer too, Bruce. But I could handle myself in heavy surf just fine—spent many days, long hours a day, swimming in big breakers off Texas beaches. I'm not quite landlocked these days, but I'm disabled by knee injuries. I may get back to sailing some day, but I have no hope of ever being able to keep upright in the swirling sand and vortices of strong currents in the waves.
It's OK, though. I'm good at surfing on my memories. =smile=
I'm sorry to hear that you can't wrestle with the waves now, and hope that will be sailing again soon. I'm actually more nervous on a boat than in the water, and I'm suddenly reminded of the disconcerting opening lines of Laura Jensen's poem "Bad Boats", from her book of the same title (this is from memory, so I may have forgotten the line breaks and punctuation):
They are like women
because they sway.
The are like men
because they swagger.
They are the bad boats
and they hate their anchors...
All best to you, and enjoy Rimbaud Month!
Bruce