Back on the beach, I pick up my phone to take this photo. It seems strange that even in the movement of figures along the sand, even in the spray of water and the jumping and splashing of child bodies in the shallows, it feels so tranquil here.
Then I see the text. My daughter writes “I’m at the farm. I’m so happy.” She is not more than five miles down the road from Walden working on a local organic farm. This is something new for her, though she casually gardens for a woman who lives near home.
Perhaps it comes from inside me after 45 minutes of the rhythm of the stroke, of the lilting ripples as I lift my head to breathe. Perhaps despite the miles I have traveled in my mind as I swam the half mile across the pond, I too have found the peace and wholeness my daughter refers to.
Perhaps for too much of our time here, we forget the fulfillment the serenity of the natural world can bring.