The Pulse of the Sea

Nantucket

"Consider the marvel of what we see.

Somewhere in ocean, perhaps a thousand miles and more from this beach, the pulse beat of earth liberates a vibration, an ocean wave. Once created, the wave or the arc of a wave begins its journey through the sea. It approaches the continent, swings into the coast line, courses ashore, breaks, dissolves, is gone.

So it goes night and day, and will go till the secret heart of earth strikes out its last slow beat and the last wave dissolves upon the last forsaken shore."
The Outermost House by Henry Beston



The rain has been coming down in sheets here, pelting against the picture window overlooking the grey-green sea.

Sometimes, great waves lap onto the sea grass and lick the air of the dune just outside the house. The wind howls through the open flue of the fireplace, competing with the sound of the waves hitting shore. I woke up this morning to find the car in a pool of water all the way up to the wheel well. I've had fires burning in the red brick hearth for two days to take the bite out of the house. When I wake in the night, I slide down deeper, and pull the shell patterned comforter up to my neck to stop the cold from coming into my cocoon. I've worn the same clothes for two days--sweatpants, two sweaters, wool socks with liners. No one seems to mind.

It's a good excuse to read. I'm still in love with Turkey and brought along a book about the Armenian border of Turkey that addresses radical Islam and the west. Author Orhan Pamuk has written a fictional account about a newspaper reporter who travels from Istanbul to Kars to find out why young Turkish girls are suiciding. "Snow" has kept me awake at night as I move through the complexities of life in the gateway to the Middle East with the protagonist, Ka.

I guess I've settled in.
M.C.