I am a sea person. I have not so secretly always known this.
And now I have returned to the joy of it. The sea. We again partake of the early morning walks along the foamy, gritty edge, hair blowing, jeans wet with the surprise - the surprise cold dangerous thrilling salty - waves! Oh, how I love it.
I also thought I loved the mountains. And I do. But the thing is I don't enter into them, thats the thing. I am not a climber, roamer, or a clamberer over rocks and cliffs. No hiker over hilltop or dale am I.
In a way I wish I was. I admire those intrepid explorers wearing thick socks and boots, with knapsacks and knowledge of lichen and moss and all manner of flora and fauna.
I just am not and I think its too late for that.
I am a water junkie. Nothing sets my spirits soaring like a quick fix of sea spray and sandy toes. A plunge into the salty lagoon washes all sadness away, as I turn round and round in the shallows, to emerge with that particular sea sticky salt hair and a damp towel clinging - to drive home and leave behind that maddening wet seat behind the steering wheel.
The other day I took to the waves in a dangerous sea that had rip tides, crazy cross currents and a powerful undertow all happening more or less simultaneously. I was not foolish, but it did toss me about a bit, and it sorted me out for the whole day.
The sea seems to enter one through your skin, like osmosis, and take up residence in ones soul. Thats the thing about the sea - the entering into. The being there, the being part of, the being covered over, contained therein thing that the sea is and does.
So, here we are, in Sedgefield by the Sea, having abandoned the greener pastures and soaring mountain ranges of the Langkloof for the long sandy beaches, craggy cliffs and moody lagoons of the Garden Route.
The thing is, as I mentioned before - I am a sea person, a water person. Even sitting within earshot of it is good for me. L and I have a favourite spot, a restaurant where the tables sit on the sand, the waitrons have bare feet and only a pile of dune separates the patrons from the sea.
We were in danger of making some time there a habit at first, having swopped 'pink ladies' -the apples of the Langkloof - for another type of 'pink lady' -a tall glass of gin and tonic swirled with bitters! Time and our budget put a stop to that, but its good to know its there - waiting.
Its taken time to adjust after this last move. Every time we move it gets harder. I have become a tired gypsey it would appear. But going down to the sea each day, to the lonely sea and the sky has made it easier to steer this tall ship. This feels like a safe harbour, and, as always , we made it through the turbulence yet again.