Other people’s words about … the moon over the sea
He lay across the bed on top of the bedspread [in his room in the cottage by the sea]. Moon shadows of trees outside fell against the pine-based walls. The bedspread was tinged a bluish white, its pattern of roses transformed to a lunar landscape. He had forgotten about the particular lustre of a seaward moon. How when a moon hung over the ocean they were not separate entities, but a third element fused from their continuous correspondence. The planks of the cottage walls appeared fastened together by this faint glow.
From ‘The Dependents’
by Katharine Dion
I love Katharine Dion’s description, here, of the moon hanging over the sea. Years ago, when I worked the late shift, I used to drive home afterwards to spend time in a beach shack south of the city. The drive took me just under an hour, and by the time I turned off the main road onto the esplanade, it would be nearly midnight. From my car, I could see the beach beyond the cliffs, the waves rolling in to meet the shore and then falling back. The water was the colour of black ink, and on clear nights the moon hung above it in just the way Dion describes: as though it was connected to the ocean, as though the two were in communication with each other.
I would turn off the engine and climb out of my car at last, feeling freed of the shift I’d just worked, returned to the life I wanted to live, by the ocean, under big skies.
I haven’t worked the late shift for years now, but I still feel the same gratitude for the house by the beach where I now live, for the ocean at the end of the road, for the moon and the sun and the sky over the water, which I see every night and every day.
Every night. Every day.
The ocean at the end of the road