Mid-afternoon a vigour overtook me to go to the sea.  It is peculiar the violence was so apparent because I had as is my wont been contentedly lounging by the pool since before noon. Of a sudden however I felt the inner yearning to feel the sting of salt water and to absorb the psychical panorama of the open sea upon the glistening water, unobstructed to the horizon by nothing other than sail boats, fishing vessels and yachts. The sun was yet high – or at least strategically positioned for late afternoon regard, an imperative for languishing in the sea.

The passage from the pool at the northern end of Buttonwood Bay to the entrance to the private beach near the southern end is from the upper reach of an arc extended southerly around the island to a point almost opposite the pool on the other side of the boating canal where are parked the various residents’ boats. Though the weather today was by any measure warm (78°F) the sea I knew would have yet to recover fully from the recent periphery of northern snowstorms.  After stationing my tricycle nearby on the pathway to the sea, I wasn’t long removing my turquoise linen shirt; then stashing my house key, lip balm, Apple watch, iPhone and glasses in my shoes. Leaving my stick propped against the picnic table along with my striped beach towel, I headed to the shore.

The shore had receded from its former line. The bits of stone were more prolific.  Nonetheless with the application of limited nimbleness I succeeded in my fumbling manner to overcome the preliminary hurdles. Soon I was up to my waist in refreshingly cool salt water, treading upon a sandy bottom. I plunged into the liquid emerald medium!  I swam a distance with my eyes open under water, absorbing the saline solution with gratification, purifying my totality in the process. When I surfaced a small distance outward, I spotted small white and grey gulls watching me from their perch along the various buoys marking the extremity of the swimming area. I turned and floated on my back. I stared into the azure heavens and the blazing yellow sun. As I floated on my back, unaware of my activity, I unwittingly approached the buoys (though the water was so placid that my movement was prompted more by a slight breeze). Some of the gulls squawked and flew away; others lingered on their perch as though testing the boundaries with me. With deference I altered my course but later at a material distance from the buoys I reassumed the identical inverted posture.

When I removed myself from the sea, carefully tip toeing to the edge of the sea, and regained my own perch at the picnic table, the salt water soon dried and left a slightly oily film upon my body. I donned my linen shirt then struggled to put on my boat shoes.  My feet were covered in white sand. I knew the sand would soon dry. I would remove any lingering particles when I returned home. Then I caste a final glance upon the placid sea, content for having immersed myself in the spiriting potion.