Growing up, whenever I thought about where I wanted to be most, it was on a beach.
Different shades of blue, different depths, location, life, creatures, texture, stories, heartbreak, hope..
The ocean is magic.
The white square house overlooking the boats, and the vast Northumberland Strait was my haven.
Memories of years past tug at my heart. There was never one sad moment at that cottage on the edge of paradise.
Growing up, whenever I thought about happiness, I thought of the beach.
I would do anything to go back to a time when I was more innocent, a time I took for granted. A place I wish I had went more in my later years.
Long dirt road filled with suspense. Would the water be conversing with the rocks or would it be distant that day, making friends with the deep sea creatures and crevices.
Would the majestic boat be in the harbour waiting for its passengers? Or would the older, nostalgic boat, a symbol of simpler times, be at home, awaiting the next voyage?
Growing up, whenever I wanted serenity, I thought of the beach.
And then, at the end of the dirt road, the white emblem of peace.
Welcoming us to its part of the world as we open the doors and once again settle in.
The gifts from Mother Nature sounding out greetings in the hundred acre woods.
But the real gift of life.. what really makes this part of the world a majestic place is when the sun sets, the dusk settles and the epitome of peace wraps us up in its embrace for the night around camp-fire. The lights on the water and the choir of crickets the most magnificent soundtrack. You would die happy if that was your last moment.
Growing up, whenever I thought of the beauty of a new day, I thought of the beach.
In the morning, the waves and the sound of the boats awaken us as we creep down the wood steps,open the rustic door and step out onto the blue porch.
Another day in paradise.