Miriam Feder home


Another Beach

This one smells like my beach: salty fishy spray rolling in, churned up and around. I’ve come down to meet the waves by way of an old concrete stairway through modest headlands covered in ice-plant that’s been nourished and destroyed in bits by salty spills. The waves swirl and crash to feed tiny waterfalls racing off the flat rocks. I’m perched at the bottom of a first set of stairs—the next stage has been chewed away by the enthusiastic destination.

An outcropping of festive grasses looks as though a decorator placed the vase.”They welcome your visitor with a bit of the suburban familiar while you unfold your wildness. It works every time.” Spider webs sparkle and connect all.

My travel eyes have returned, here with my reliable connection to the sea. I remind myself “Pacific, cold, Santa Cruz, California—not the South China Sea.” After I sit at the edge of this energy, I return to my brisk walk under 3 shirts, ready for the sun to pour out her heat, barely comfortable under the blanket of fog that hasn’t yet unraveled. Trees have been stunted and sculpted by wind. I am revealed: Readiness, curiosity, the absolute delight in life rolls across my shoulders, a favorite shawl, good in all types of weather