I walk east along the seawall.
I look down at the ocean water. It laps gently against the rock wall. It is a hot day. I think about how long it has been since I went swimming. In the ocean, in a lake, in a pool.
I imagine myself undressing, walking down the stone steps that are covered by the high tide. Naked, I lie face up in the ocean water, looking at the blue sky, floating comfortably.
My body is slim. It is my 2002 body. It has birthed and raised two children. I am 40 but really, I am more a teenager. Disappearing a little more each day as my marriage is ending. Trying to take up less space.
As I float in the harbour, my body expands through these last 20 years of hardship, beauty, menopause, despair, ease, loss, laughter, awe, regressions, growth… I transform into a loose and weathered old envelope. Now a swollen 60 year old taking up her own introverted salty space.
I float in a city, healing, serene. A crow drops a mussel on the stone wall. A seagull swims by, ignoring me.
I float out with the tide.