At the Edge of the World . . .
Improvising with words. That’s how Tom described blogging – improvising for writers.
So, that’s what I’m doing. Improvising at the edge of the world.
We arrived in Mendocino about an hour ago, and whenever I get to the ocean, I feel like I’m at the edge of the world.
The thing I think I miss most about living inland is proximity to the ocean. I spent 75 days on the ocean when I was a kid. We travelled from Saudi Arabia back to California on a Dutch freighter. I guess that was more like being beyond the edge of the world.
But the point is, I miss the ocean. I miss its cool wetness. Looking out over the ocean helps me put things in perspective. Walking on the beach, never being able to predict the pattern of the waves, helps me see myself in relationship to the world.
A grain of sand, perhaps, but I suspect that one speck of sand might affect the pattern of waves.
And then there’s being on the ocean. There were days at a time, once we got past the Phillipines, where we didn’t see land or even another ship. At some point, we ran into the tail end of typhoons and waves crashed over the top of the ship.
I don’t remember ever being afraid.
I don’t think vastness frightens me. I actually think there might be something comforting in it for me.
Improvising with words at the edge of the world on a Sunday in May.