No two days are the same on the water outside my window. Sometimes the sunlight hits exactly right and for a small sweet moment blinds you before moving onwards. Sometimes the clouds are so heavy and low it feels like you could reach out and poke holes in them. There are millpond days where skipping a stone makes ripple after ripple dance across the surface and there are days when the water flows furious and fast. Days where you can imagine even paddling in the shallows would see you swept away and out to sea.
My favourite days are when the sun is low in the sky and it lights up in majestic colours, pinks, reds, golds, and purples as it dips down towards the horizon before disappearing in a last blaze.
The water has a tendency to match my mood, or my mood matches the water. When the colours are vibrant and glowing I notice and it makes me smile. When the clouds are full and hanging low with raindrops I notice and it makes my heart heavy.
There’s so many reminders of the life out there, from the vessels hooting their way up and down in the fog; the klaxon of the sailing school on weekend mornings; the fireworks when a cruise ship leaves port for an adventure; the windsurfers; the zap cats; the pleasure boats. In the distance on the other shore are the chimneys and towers of the oil refinery, a strangely beautiful glittering metropolis in stark contrast to the nature outside my window.
The lights across the water play to my romantic side, thinking of an aloof rich gentleman who throws lavish parties and pines for me standing on his dock. Although I actually found myself brooding across the waves imagining a green light twinkling in the distance.
The water is always there and I find myself drawn to it, it helps me find calm when I’m anxious, it torments me when I’m so low I feel like walking into it and never stopping, but more often than not as I walk along the shoreline it keeps me grounded.