Bertha and the Three Day Blow
Big Bertha was texting. "Now, don't ask me if I miss you. Time apart is good. Otherwise you might get tired of me." To which Little Mac replied, "Not in a million years. But you can have your space. I'll try to think of something else."
After all, Bertha thought, pocketing her phone, I'm not so far away. "And I like a blow!" she shouted. She had to shout to hear herself. In its third day, the wind was stronger than ever. Even she, big as she was, had to lean into it to keep her balance. And she liked that because it made her feel small. She liked the booming concussion of big waves breaking on granite that she could feel in her bones, that let her know that she was really neither big or small but inseparable from it all.
The spray spotted her clothes. She tasted salt on her lips when she licked them. The strength of the blow was her own - she could feel it. It was like being plugged into infinity.
"I don't miss him at all," she whispered so no one could hear it not even herself. "But I do love that little man."
14 December 2017
Texas Jim
Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca