i surf

i went body surfing out at good harbor beach during hurricane kyle, while tropical storm laura was developing out at sea, far off the nova scotia coast. it was a sunday. i had felt pulled to the ocean that day, really since the night before. my sons marek and lukas came with me. one of marek's names is kyle, named for a surfer and artist i knew in nova scotia in the year marek was born there. that was the year of hale - bopp. i can remember it in the sky over the house and how it would accompany me out to the valley, leading the way out, hanging, to see my wife laura and the children. that was the year of crying. that was the fall that brought marek, water unbroken, into the world. that was the beginning, really, of the end. kyle would surf lawrencetown beach. it had the coldest water i've ever felt in the summer. the midwife pushed gently at the clear, rippled film and our son came forth.

there we stood on the beach, in awe. me, marek and lukas. kyle. laura at sea. it was definitely all on fire that day. it was a powerful day, full of raw beauty and return. the ocean is always about return for me. and renewal. i went out into the waves and after being battered and slapped and spilt, went down and grabbed at handfulls of sand on the bottom as i dove and pulled my way through. below, pressed down, smiling, in the cold grey-green underworld. forgotten. i emerged, and took a breath. the pull and release, the joining with the rush to shore. thrown up on the sand. the mist so heavy that it was as if water and air were one. the softness of the bobbing surfers. the disappearing dog walkers. the free dogs wheeling in the sand. the boys called to me. so faint and invisible, only suggestive of sons. small friends of monet’s in motion. arms and muffled shouts. they had found a dead seal washed up on the seaweed line. she seemed to be an adult grey. it was hard to see any signs of trauma, but the back of her head was bloodied. such a beautiful animal. such a perfect shape. the females can live into their 30s. had she brought children into the world? i pulled a tooth from her lower jaw. a canine. my wife was in her 30s. a similar size and shape. reminiscent. perhaps laying somewhere in a similar position. reclining. we were now two years into our separation. can we still count those as years of marriage? are we 10 then? or 12? either way, we didn't make it out of our own childhood stunted. a life cut short. 30 years of living in the oceans sounds really good to me. i could start now. i tried to roll the seal over for lukas. he wanted to see where she was hurt. i put both hands on her side and the first thing i felt was warmth. it felt familiar. the dead weight. the oils and the smell on my hands. i went to the water and sand to try to work them from my fingers, but they would not leave.

we found a snail on the way back, away from the beach. gloucester, we call him. he was on the sidewalk heading into town. not far from the bar made famous in 'the perfect storm'. he has now been joined by a leopard slug, rescued before the first frost, who has laid a pile of eggs and lays curled around them. slugs and snails are hermaphrodites, they are both male and female. i have dreams now of my slug body. ready to be both, as the need arises.