To the Sea

                                                   Blue Boats

                                         Quiet Harbor

 

Pattern in Water

Lobster Traps

                                                    
                                                  Out to Sea

Restless and in need of an outing, I drive Grandma to the shore. The ocean smells salty, fishy, like clams, and a sharp cold breeze blows against us as we shuffle over splintered planks. I hold her arm as we brave uneven ground. She presses heavy-weigh against me. Slow, careful steps. Grandma exhales and makes a grunting sound. “Pain?” I ask. She nods, breathless. I hold her tight.

For lunch we order fried haddock sandwiches. They arrive greasy, drenched with tartar sauce and American cheese. Grandma rests. I wander the docks, stepping on mussels, halved and pecked clean by gulls. They are iridescent, brittle, blue. I wave at Grandma. She waves back.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m not the walker I used to be.” I fill my lungs with the smell of sea, reluctant to leave.  “How’s your hip?” “It hurts.” She looks out past a line of boats bobbing in the bay, past fisherman folding their nets. “You get old, you get tired, and your body aches. That’s life.” We sit and absorb the blue-hues in silence. “Ready to go home?” “Ready.”