52 Weeks 500 Words
This is how it began: Justine (not her real
name) decided to write 500 words (or as near as), anything goes, per week for 52
weeks. She would then submit it for anonymous posting, via me, her friend.
Perhaps a pattern will emerge from her words, but at this stage it’s more an
experiment I have agreed to share in. I’ll attempt to draw conclusions at the
end of this. Stay tuned if this resonates with you.
Week 18
'Here in the southern hemisphere summer has arrived. Already
everything is drying out from ever-present wind and, of course, the heat. Every
day we hope for a little rain to ease the dryness, to help our gardens grow …
to feel renewed.
I remember, as a child, how summer thrilled me. Time for the
sprinklers to go on, time for swimming, for cold juice and ice-cream. Screaming
on the beach, playing in the waves, building sandcastles. As a teenager it was
about the tan, the bikini, and boys, of course.
Now, older, wiser, I wonder at our stupidity. Had we stayed
out of the sun more, we’d have less freckles now, less skin damage. Still,
looking back, those days were bliss, and skin damage isn’t so bad given the
days of glory we experienced.
It’s holiday season and the beaches are now crowded with sun
worshippers. Today I shake my head and think to myself it’s all rather
pointless. It’s not the sun and sea, for I understand the pleasure kids receive
from a day out, it’s the crowds. Everyone does the same thing, flocking to the
nearest stretch of beach sand to spend the day with hordes of others. It’s
pointless, because how do you know yourself amongst so many? How do you grow
your personality when, for the most part, you find yourself competing with
others doing exactly what you’re about?
I hear you say ‘but you did the same’ once upon a time,
don’t therefore judge. The truth is I never went where the crowds were. It
seems to me whenever we went to the beach as kids, it was a lonely place and the
entire white expanse was ours for an entire magical day. For this I must thank
my parents; clearly they preferred the silence. Yes, as teenagers, there were
many of us congregating, but again, we chose quiet places. Perhaps it was my
luck to know friends who thought like me, choosing privacy over public
displays, and perhaps I chose in that manner because of the way I was raised.
I prefer privacy. When I go to the beach now, it is in the
evening when the light is spectacular, the temperature bearable, and the sand
is filled only with footprints. Of course, often I am not alone in this choice
and others are about the same actions at that time of day. We greet as we pass
each other by … and move on to enjoy the solitude.
I’m not yet in my elder years, in case you were wondering,
and many of those I do greet in passing aren’t either, it’s simply a choice
made that fits. It is a time to enjoy late evening sunshine, balmy air, and
witness the almighty display of a sunset.
Why am I writing about this, you ask, beyond proving my
preference for privacy? It’s the rain, see. When it does rain here in summer,
suddenly everyone abandons the outdoors. The beaches are empty, the malls full.
Public display moves elsewhere.
And then I wander the lonely stretch of sand in daylight
under glowering heavens with freshness all around, with rain drumming upon my
shoulders. It is still warm – it’s summer! – and the smell of water and dry
earth meeting is beyond every description. I am renewed, as the land is
renewed.
Do I like summer? In the evening when all is quiet, indeed,
and, absolutely yes, when it rains. Why? Because it isn't pointless, it is
renewal. It is knowing myself.'
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