I was expecting the rain, but not the surfers. It was raining, I slept in a bit later than usual, had breakfast out with friends and my house guest who was departing, and then, late morning, in the middle of the rain, I set off to the beach for my walk. The Gulf has been so calm and placid, but, surprise, today, surf was rough, and the men, dreadlocked and wet suited, surfed the waves. I was so happy to be walking in the wind in my windbreaker getting wet, and the storm stirred up lots of shells and wrack and a perfect froth and even a pink feather on shells. I walked north. I thought about storms I’ve walked by the sea in - grew a little anxious even, remembering one, years ago, the terrible sky and the beastly waves, and running, running and flagging a passing car for a ride in my fear of being washed up and away into oblivion! I was in therapy then, with Barbara. Excavating so much. The storm and the beach that day were like an oceanic dream, the kind you wake from in a shock of having survived an emotional upheaval you’re afraid you might never recover from. Yes, the storm of emotional regression. Today, beside this powerful energy, I knew I was completely grown up and safe. But still! The shell pickers mostly stayed home. At the bridge, when I could walk no further I turned back. A shell picker walked ahead of me under an umbrella! Some people do not enjoy getting wet on a cool day. But I do. And I thought about my poem from this week, breaking it in two. It’s two poems? Perhaps. It’s inspired by a stay on this beach years ago, not far from where I walk, just south. I will break it in two and then see if they are halves or wholes. And I returned happy to get dry and work for the afternoon, the whole afternoon. I needed to read through the writing from my How Pictures Heal participants and write my comments on their deep and interesting and moving sharing. And post the next week’s course. By then, my husband came back from being out adventuring all day for dinner together and we went to a little restaurant very close by to hear about each other’s day, share pear salad and crab cakes. What we keep reporting to each other: we like exactly where we are, and it’s lucky and happy that we want to be in the same place at the same time, discovering, this home away from home.