Living on the Edge

I live on the edge of wilderness.

I forget that sometimes. When I sit out on the deck with the sun shining, water calm. When I watch paddle boarders out on Burrows Bay, when kids are playing on the beach near the marina. When I sit at my computer, in the comfort of my house, with the heat on and food in the refrigerator.

I forget.

It doesn't take much to remind me.

The storm tracks into the Puget Sound. The water is glassy, the sky leaden with a hint of light to the north. I hear the wind begin to move through the trees far above my roof and as I move out to the deck, I can see the gusts of wind dancing across the water. One direction, glancing off the hill, then moving in the other direction. I watch a particularly strong gust as it skims along the surface towards me - and then it touches my face, it moans through the trees.

Within minutes - minutes - the wind gusts have started moving the water. Where there were no swells there are many. Small at first, almost languid. Within the hour, the swells are four to five feet high. Now it matters where the tide is at. The swells hit the sandbar and become waves. The waves roll and crash with the hollow sound of thunder into the rock below my house. The salt spray coats my windows.

Now it begins to rain. Bands of rain. Within minutes all the pine needles on my roof are now blocking my gutters. Water pours off the roof, saturating the sharp cliff closest to the foundation. Pine cones fall, shattering against the concrete roof tiles like gunshots. The cats are now hiding under the bed. I want to join them.

I learned long ago that the sea is not benign. Like any wild place, it can be incredibly hazardous to the unwary. And yet, it is also a landscape that embodies such peace and tranquility. Not during stormy weather. Not when you are caught in a particularly strong current or tide. Water lays claim to this planet like no other element.

And I've chosen to live right up against it.

Sometimes it is exhilarating and other times I am nervous living on a bank overlooking the sea. There is no way to be lulled into complacency or forget that I, too, am but a small speck of life clinging to the shoreline. This place demands acquiescence.  It demands acceptance of my frail tenacity.

And it is in that acceptance that I connect to this wild place and fall in love all over again.