My island is surrounded by the Pacific Ocean. I’m a Pacific Islander, but my island isn’t surrounded by warm tropical waters.
The waves that roll onto my shores are steely, slate-coloured, deep and dark blue, grey and green. They are fringed with white and salty.
Our waves are cold, bone-chilling even in the summer months. They roll in endlessly, falling over each other in the race to crash upon the craggy rocks, the boulders and even some sand. They splash over the walled walk on top of the cliffs, spraying icy saline over sidewalks, vehicles and unsuspecting pedestrians. They stretch from the island to the mainland of both Canada and the US, depending on which side of the island you’re on.
The ocean calls to all the residents – the salt-tipped wind whips back hair and reddens cheeks, noses and ears with chill. The lighthouse at the end of the breakwater is a peaceful spot for many. The siren song is loud here, permeating the air we breathe, the light we see, the rain that falls on our roofs and streets. The salt-air spoils us for other climates, we can’t survive in the arid climes of any interior lands.
Beaches roll along for miles, from one edge of the island’s point to the other. Cliffs bravely face the ocean, covered in scrub, brush and driftwood. The shore is uneven and beautiful. Blue-grey and black rocks stretch out into the water, scattered along the foreshore; smaller rocks roll along the shore, a unique and wonderful sound; a swishing along the sandy stretches. Driftwood gathers and piles along the shore, marking the high tides of winter.
This is the ocean that soothes me.
This is the ocean that I know and love.
This is the ocean I call home.
These waves roll from one end of the earth to the other and back again. How ever the ocean waters may change from the Pacific to the Atlantic and Indian oceans, these waters will always calm my soul. These frigid waters will always delight me in the heat of late August and these waters will create the breath-taking backdrop of my little world.