L
ong piers stretch out towards the sea.
Boats crowd on either side.
The breeze fans my face. It carries with it the scent of salt and old fish.
There is sand in my sandals from the beach bungalow.
It is warm, sticky and chafes my broken toe.
I bend down to try to get at my right sandal.
An internal explosion blindsides me. It is followed with a grimace of pain and my right hand places itself on the bulging right side of my ribcage.
I seem sometimes to forget my body has yet to heal after the accident with the Vespa in India.
Five broken ribs, a broken collarbone and one broken toe on my right foot.
My skin is blotchy with scars from all the wounds.
Rosy patches and long scratches on suntanned skin.
Superficial outwardly, but deep within as my body remembers what my mind attempts to forget.
After the accident, I gave myself room for recovery in a tranquil place.
A place where nature’s healing energy was allowed to contribute to my own healing.
What originally had been an escape from my emotional turbulence became a more intimate meeting with myself and a journey into my body, which previously I had never even been close to.
Eventually, my own escapism imprisoned me.