Notes from across the sea.
Finding simplicity between shells and sea glass.
If we arrived here a bit earlier we would have longer days providing us more time for explorations and late walks. The sunset would stretch late in the evening giving us more daylight for slow walking by the beach, observing small waves of sea water, inhaling the smell of salt, seeking for reflections of the sky on shiny, almost transparent water surfaces. But here we are now, the water is warm enough to swim and enjoy searching for sea glass and shells. It's warm enough for walks in linen shirts and shorts, for evening walks and seeing some new night lights on the water. Autumn will be almost here. I'm waiting her patiently. Sun goes away earlier, moon start shining earlier, and we go for walks a bit earlier too. In front of our temporary home, wide olive trees have spread and there, under those long branches, my little one spends moments playing with the twigs and tiny but long leaves. September lights flickers among them and sunsets here are still very vivid. And I know that by the time we come back home mornings will suddenly become misty and leaves will become deep green, then yellow, brown and dark red.
We decided to bring one large suitcase, fill it with a minimum number of clothes, a couple of picture books and a few toys for the little one. Linen shirts, one sweater for each, linen shorts and one pair of long pants, one dress, one skirt, some T-shirts, sandals and sneakers. One tote bag for everything and our straw beach bag. A picture book about finding snail in the garden and renewing friendship, and another about the autumn departure of a little wild goose. Wooden crayons in a hand-sewn bag (which I hastily sewed the day before leaving), a couple of sheets of hard paper, a tractor and a favorite comforter and toy, a small dog figurine. In addition, of course, little shovel and a little container for collecting shells on the beach. For myself I decided no books this trip, more presence and rest. More seeking simplicity and learning to live with less.
Our walking rhythm here is calm and quiet, we often stop and curiously observe the night waves and circles in the water while throwing pebbles. Here and there we hear crickets, we seek the sound of boat arrivals and departures and the clapping of oars on the shore as they hang from the abandoned little red boat. We walk on wooden docks and admire the beauty of ropes tied to small concrete pillars.
We spend our mornings on the beach, swimming, looking for pebbles and shells, walking in the shallows and going on a pedal boat. When entering the sea it seems cold, but just a few strokes away the touch of sea is warm. I turn on my back and float. I simply let the water move me as I observe the bright sky. The stones on the shore are multi-colored and firmly laid next to each other as if protecting each other from large waves. Black with white dots, brown with yellowish stripes, shiny round white, perfectly round black, pink, greenish blue. Whenever you pick one up, it is beautiful and you want to keep it for some memory. And because we stand to our decision of buying no souvenirs, I think pebbles and shells will become one for this little summer memory.
One morning when they announced a rainy day, we decided to travel by boat to Dubrovnik. We were picked up by a small passenger ship, red in color with yellow stripes and a nice brown wooden roof. The ship engine was loud, but it didn't bother my little one who slept part of the way. On the way back, the same ship picked us up and this time we crossed the sea a little wildly. The rain fell, the sky turned dark gray, and the waves decided to get big and fast. We heard the waves lapping at the ship and we were bouncing in our seats. There were at least ten other passengers sitting on those white wooden seats. On the way back, the bow of the ship was filled with the loud stories (because loud boat engine and a bit of storm on the sea) of five older ladies who, with sweaters on their shoulders, curly short hair, scarves around their necks and smiles on their faces, shared some adventure tales. Their faces seemed happy and fulfilled, and their eyes were full of a long life lived and many memories. In a moment, I could imagine myself on that seat, with chunky dark blue sweater and the same short hairstyle as now, looking at the rolling sea, listening to the lapping of the waves and enjoying life now and ahead of me. In that moment of my imagination, the little one was sleeping in my lap, holding my shirt tightly with that little tender hand. Here and there a drop of seawater would land on his cheeks, and I would gently, almost imperceptibly, remove them with my finger. Imagining myself as an old woman, I also imagined his life, his childhood and growing up. The one in which I want to be fully present and teach him to seek above all simplicity, modesty and kindness.
We're always in search for some simplicity and stories too, here where sea, sky and land of shores meet and intertwine. I can truly say that looking for simplicity and moments is like finding bits of magic. This time I found magic in walking through the shallows and holding that little hand, in our pockets full of shells, colorful pebbles and green sea glass, in noticing tiny fish swimming in the sea around us, in tiny bright red lips smeared with chocolate ice cream, in drawing with coloring pens under striped parasol, in the loud and excited laughter of my child while holding his feet in the waves created by the pedal boat, in walking on the creaking, wooden bridge and the swaying sea surface decorated with sunset hues. Until next time, until meeting some new waves somewhere here on the line where sea meets the sky and those two meet the shore. Until then, I'll seek simplicity and memories by autumnal candle light, crimson red apple trees, meadow walks and cinnamon rolls.