Sandy Hook

Kelp forests are swaying with life as I’m crying on the sand cliffs because I don’t get to visit as much as I used to. Beaches are the best in winter. The sand makes it hard for me to stand and my destabilizing blood sugar forces me to leave, among other issues I have. I’m volunteering for seal monitoring, hoping people aren’t going to make them disappear. Their dogs and mouths are so loud the seals scramble from their haul-out-sites into the sea, we’ve lost over a hundred. Please come back. There are things you need to know: you need to stay 150 feet away from seals, the harp seal isn’t sick it’s just tired, you’re going to make them sick, harp seals rarely come to Sandy Hook sites, they’re introverts, and they’re from the Arctic. I relate to them because of this. 

 

I walk to the other side of Sandy Hook. Across from the abandoned buildings and overgrown poison ivy, my hands are stretching down to the water to pick up a false angel wing shell, the water is calmer and clearer than I remember—this is good. Maybe because this area is untouched. This can be my secret spot. The sea makes me feel weightless. My hair bobbing in the water, it is finally quiet. I am free. There is no pain when I’m in this blanket of cold. 

 

Do you know what it’s like to be loved by the sea?