Ocean days are not filled with sunshine. They are not filled with brightly colored kites jousting seagulls in the sky. They do not host a carnival of school children emerging from sweet shops with fistfulls of saltwater taffy. They are not meant for bare toes, or striped beachtowels. There is no such thing as lemonade, on an Ocean day.

Ocean days are constructed of misty mountains that boil in the wind like churning surf. They have floors of soggy grass, under rugs of mottled, drowned leaves in puddles reflecting blank mirror skies.

Ocean days are flavored with woodsmoke, and colored with ashes. They feel like one too few wool sweaters, adorned with chillbumps. They beckon cold fingers, cold noses, and cold ears with bonfires and tall tales.

Ocean days are vendors of teapots, cozy nooks and good books. They are merchants of crocheted blankets, catnaps and meloncholy. They are peddlers of snuggles, warm cookies, and dollops of whipped cream….but only to those whose hair is drenched, and whose smile is bright through chattering teeth.

Ocean days belong to slow walkers, and fond memories. Board games, and pinochle. Bear hugs, and eskimo kisses. They are savored by conversationalists and silent ponderers alike. By whistlers, hummers, and soft shoe shufflers. By daydreamers, muses, dogs, and cats…for who recognize this raindrop wrapped soulgift better than they?

So farewell, beachballs and sand castles. Goodbye, flipflops and sunscreen. Retreat into the closet and wait on the sun… for right now, this Ocean Day is for me.

Aimee November 17th ’09