On Eastbourne beach, I breathe in and out to the melody of the waves, as the salt lingers and the spray spits and the surf swishes and the stones crunch, as the symphony of the sea echoes around me, delighting on every sense, and its sighing semibreves soon seep into my soul, washing away worries and eroding doubts, and I lose myself in that eternal cadence of calm that croons around me, tender and kind, and soon I forget all my fears; for sometimes it’s hard to live with a celestial cryptid in your sight, and sometimes it’s hard to know what to do when she grows and changes and devours, and sometimes it’s hard to carry the weight of impossibility, and sometimes its hard to bear the loneliness of being unique, but as I breathe in and out to the melody of the waves my heart becomes lighter as that serenade fills me with a euphoric ecstasy that is like no other, and instead I become full of waves and hope, and as I stand there I hear that ancient hum, that resonance of pagan pathways that calls me, a crescendo that grows and builds until I can deny it no longer, and my celestial cryptid begs to trail tentacles into the water and swim into the horizon, and so I slip shoes from skin, stepping softly across shores older than eons, laughing as the water laps across my toes, cold and sharp, as my celestial cryptid delights and darts through the waves, singing to the tune of ancient sagas, and I follow her further into the froth and foam, her body shimmering starlight, tentacles trailing wonder, glittering in a shade of amethyst I haven’t seen before, and as she does her joy is hard to resist, for it surges within me like these tides, a feeling I had lost for a while, and here the sea sings louder than ever as she tells me her tales, of kelpie and kraken, siren and selkie, and in her stories I find wonder and magic once again, and myths make my mind itch to write, and as the next wave roars I scuttle back, finding a series of pebbles that become my worries, and I dedicate each to the sea, to Nehalinna and Neptune, and tactile tentacles curl through my fingers as I toss them into the waves, and I breathe as I feel as light and as free as the seagull soaring above, and after a timeless eternity I climb up the shingle, renewed and restored, in every sense.
Author's Note:
I practice self care in a few ways. It’s often by savouring small pleasures like a good cup of coffee, or by spending time outdoors. I do a lot of meditation, often to saxophone music which really helps. I find that writing is another form of meditation for me, and helps both mentally and to make sense of sight loss, and I love to write anyway. I’ve always found joy in music, particularly with jazz and swing, both by listening and playing. I still have blue days sometimes, but always try to make them colourful.
Sarah Oakes is a visually impaired writer and musician in love with krakens and science fiction. Her stories have been published in
FromOneLine, National Flash Fiction Day, Voidspace Zine, and more. When not writing, you can find Sarah travelling, playing her clarinet, or in nature.
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