We were served tea, and at the bottom of the teacups were iron figurines. At the party in my dream we all sat at a round table under the peach tree in my backyard in Westwood, New Jersey. Soon after that trip, prior to my third birthday, I had a vivid dream in anticipation of a celebration. I believe my happy memories of the sea were carried forward by those cherished, faded photographs. The photos from that trip seem so familiar that I can still feel the day: sitting on the beach next to the ocean, smiling in the Bahamian sun. My parents took me to the Caribbean as a small child. As we grow older, water also becomes the matrix for sport, relaxation, and romance. In between, I've been fascinated by and privileged to know many ponds, tanks, rivers, bottles, pools, lakes, streams, buckets, waterfalls, quarries, tubs, mists, oceans, downpours, and puddles.Īs children we delight in water. And the last-at least as I now imagine it-will be in the form of ashes, cast over the Pacific. My first body of water, of course, was experienced as a zygote in my mother's womb. Time spent in, on, under, or near water interspersed with the periods spent thinking about where, when, and how to reach it next. One of the many possible ways to describe a life would be as a series of encounters with various bodies of water.
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