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Thalassophile by Mary Embleton

(a lover of the sea)

The smell of teal blue with deep green seaweed notes keep me coming back for more. Sometimes I go outside my house at night to listen to the rattle of the wind- blown masts and the thick smell of kelp hovers over the harbour and creeps towards me. I breathe it in deeply, holding it in for as long as I can so as to not lose that moment. I moved away for University and all that and mourned in my land-locked student digs for the salty wind no more in my hair. I returned like a migrating gull.

Childhood was packed with beach - stony , sandy , rocky as we traipsed windbreaks and beach umbrellas to settle in for the day. In large rock pools , as an only child, I would be the Pirate or Mermaid mistress of my own ocean. During the season, I would ride on the back of my Father's motorbike to Tregantle and fill a bucket with mussels and winkles. I jammed it precariously between by chest and his back as we took our haul home to cook for tea. As foodies, he would get me up early to visit the old Fish Market to hope for our favourite : squid.

The sounds of the waves on stony shore and the squawking of gulls are the soundtrack to my life. The ebb and flow of the tide a reassurance of the constant love of God as the sea always remains the sea, a faithful companion. I dip in the breathtaking cold of its embrace and time slows, my breath steaming across the surface; my mind settles as the ripples lap around me. I prefer those winter swims with the exhilaration of post swim laughter on the steps of Tinside East with our flasks of steaming coffee. I look forward to growing old with you, my always-old, always-young forever friend

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Thank you, Mary Embleton, for this lovely post - it slowed me and brought a tear to my eye...

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