After a breath-taking Easter week up and down the California coast, visiting colleges and leaning into the idea of a future new life out west, there was the last day...
The Pacific in front of us, mountains sweeping up the coastline. It was a quiet morning at Point Dume when we spotted the dolphins. Two of them rising up out of the water like parentheses. Like through glass, we count seven dolphins riding the breaking wave. This was enough of a mother nature gift but the surprise surfacing, like a peaceful submarine, a mountain top, is the whale that brings tears to our eyes.
No words. (No pictures even.)
The whale swims north, occasionally lifting its face, rolling to one side with a wave of a fin. Dolphins scout along side the whale and then we see more - two, three, five whales was our final count. Submerged for the longest time then an exuberant spray from their spouts,
a huge exhale.
Tears and no words feel right these days.
What words for tenderness, whales, and the ever-changing nature of everything?
For children growing up.
Yes, it is the blink of an eye.
We say, You had to be there.
We have to be here.
In whatever space we find ourselves: tears, joy, connection, the deep ache of loneliness or shall I say, the deep ache of being human, watch it, watch yourself, stay.🌀
When I'm not resisting the daily ocean of emotions, I experience the ordinary awe of everything. At night when I can't sleep and go to jump on the worry train,
I bring the whales to my bed.
They moved with ease.
Coming up for air.
Dropping down to the deep.
Then up for air and sunlight.
~ Whales by Claire Collins