For once a selkie finds her skin, neither bonds of steel nor bonds of love, can keep her from the sea…
There is an old spilloff channel/breakwater in the bay across the street from my house. It’s been there for years, and is only visible when the tide is particularly low. When I was a child, it was strictly off limits, it surface is slick with seaweed and studded with barnacles, all of which equate to a good way for a little girl to slip and break something. Now though, things are a lot different. I no longer have to worry about slipping and losing my balance, I’ve known this beach since I was old enough to walk on it, there was a time when I knew every stone by heart, a few barnacles no longer intimidate me.
So I sat there, with my feet in the water up to the ankles on either side of the narrow stone, letting the ocean fix me. This isn’t just any ocean you see, this particular body of water has healed me and supported me for my whole life, this water knows me. It’s ice cold, most people put one toe in the water and yelp at the pain that shoots up their calfs, but to me? On a day like this? The water feels warm around my ankles, combining with the rare warmth of Victoria sunshine.
Out with the negative, with the pain, and the confusion and the conflicts that have been in residence in my heart for rather longer than I would like to admit, and in with the beginnings of whatever the next stage is…
And for the first time in a far longer than I care to admit, I felt like I was home…
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