“
My mother always wanted to live near the water," she said. "She said it's the one thing that brings us all together. That I can have my toe in the ocean off the coast of Maine, and a girl my age can have her toe in the ocean off the coast of Africa, and we would be touching. On opposite sides of the world.
”
”
Megan Miranda (Vengeance (Fracture, #2))
“
Let my toes teach the shore
how to feel a tranquil life
through the wetness of sands
Let my heart latch the door
of blackness, as all my pain
now blue sky understands
”
”
Munia Khan
“
She was supposed to build sand castles on the beach and put her toes in the ocean,” Madame says.
”
”
Lauren DeStefano (Sever (The Chemical Garden, #3))
“
Because no matter what happens, you are going to get hurt in life. But it’s so much better to have jumped into the ocean and gotten stung by a jellyfish than to never have felt the salt water between your toes at all.
”
”
T.K. Leigh (A Beautiful Mess (Beautiful Mess, #1))
“
As a single mother, I feel like I carry the weight of the ocean on my shoulders trying to keep my head above water to keep from drowning. I try to stand firm as I dig my toes in the sand, but the troubling waves tend to wash the sand away from under my feet. I lose my balance, but I have to make the best of what I am given; take a leap of faith and start swimming.
”
”
Charlena E. Jackson (A Woman's Love Is Never Good Enough)
“
Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)
The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,
shoulders, and all the rest
at night
in the black branches,
in the morning
in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather
plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,
lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body’s world,
instinct
and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility,
to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
where no one is –
so it enters us –
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;
and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.
”
”
Mary Oliver (Dream Work)
“
We've done so much together, wherever I go and whatever I see, I think of you. Newborn babies; the pattern on the plate that you can see under a paper-thin slice of sashimi; fireworks in August. The moon hidden behind the clouds over the ocean at night. When I'm sitting down someplace, inadvertently stepping on someone's toes, and have to apologize. And when someone picks up something I've dropped, and I thank him. When I see an elderly man tottering along,and wonder how much longer he has to live. Dogs and cats peeking out from alleyways. A beautiful view from a tall building. The warm blast of air you feel when you go down into a subway station. The phone ringing in the middle of the night. Even when I have crushes on other men, I always see you in the curve of their eyebrows."
"Yet I must remain calm, detached. It's a little like trying to ignore a plate of delicious food when you're really hungry. When it beckons you, there's no problem with enjoying the aroma and appreciating it with your eyes, but at some point you have to separate yourself and realize, like a professional waiter does, that it's not your own. It's my job to ignore those plates heaped with delicious morsels and just carry them where they need to go.
”
”
Banana Yoshimoto
“
Because no matter what happens, you are going to get hurt in life. But it’s so much better to have jumped into the ocean and gotten stung by a jellyfish than to never have felt the salt water between your toes at all.” Kiera
”
”
T.K. Leigh (A Beautiful Mess (Beautiful Mess, #1))
“
Dip your toe in every ocean and try everything and anything.
”
”
Penelope Douglas (Corrupt (Devil's Night, #1))
“
I want you to know that you were wanted. I decided: I wanted you.
Yi Ba thought that only men could do what they wanted, but he was wrong. I stood with my toes in the ocean, euphoric at how far I had come, and two months later, when I gave birth to you, I would feel accomplished, tougher than any man.
”
”
Lisa Ko (The Leavers)
“
My mother is soil and rain,
clay, ash, sand, sun and moonlight.
My mother is a weeping willow—
strong, daring, dripping.
My mother is oceans so salty and wild
she can consume whole cities—
but, mostly, she chooses to be calm turquoise,
washing softly over toes in sand.
She is vast—
some places un-navigated.
She is offering, felt without words, sacred, and restful.
She grows life.
—mother/Mother Earth
”
”
Ashley Asti (The Moon and Her Sisters)
“
There were times when I was blown away by the virgin beauty of the land. Kind of like that guy who lost his shit on the internet at the full double rainbow across the sky. Remember that guy? He kept asking what it meant, and it is not so difficult a question to answer. It means that we are loved, like all living things that Gaia sustains. There is a poetry in the canapes of forests and in the gentle roll of hills. A song in the wind and a benediction in the kiss of the sun. There are stories in the chuckle of waters in creeks and epics told in the tides of oceans. There are trees, Granuaile, that seem sometimes like they have grown all their lives just to feel the touch of my hand upon their trunks. They are so welcoming to me. You will feel that welcome in your hands some day. You'll feel it in your toes as you walk upon the earth. I cannot wait to see that love bloom in your eyes....' Tears glistened at the edges of her eyes... She knew precisely what I meant. She understood. And she became almost unbearably beautiful to me in that moment.
”
”
Kevin Hearne (Tricked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #4))
“
The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean. From it we have learned most of what we know. Recently, we have waded a little out to sea, enough to dampen our toes or, at most, wet our ankles. The water seems inviting. The ocean calls. Some part of our being knows this is from where we came. We long to return. These aspirations are not, I think, irreverent, although they may trouble whatever gods may be.
”
”
Carl Sagan (Cosmos)
“
When my toes are sunk into warm sand and the ocean is lapping my feet, when I breathe in the scent of salt and hear the cry of a seagull, I know that I am returned to a place of restoration. I am home.I can heal here.
”
”
Toni Sorenson
“
What is true of the natural qualities of the soul is preeminently true of faith. So long as we are quietly at rest amid favorable and undisturbed surroundings, faith sleeps as an undeveloped sinew within us. But when we are pushed out from all these surroundings, with nothing but God to look to, then faith grows suddenly into a cable, a monarch oak, a master-principle of the life. As long as the bird lingers by the nest, it will not know the luxury of flight. As long as the trembling boy holds to the bank, or toes the bottom, he will not learn the ecstasy of battling with the ocean wave.
”
”
F.B. Meyer
“
I dip my toe into the ocean of Joy and quickly withdraw it, afraid of the sea creatures of the mind.
”
”
Martin Cosgrove
“
Screw sharks; a Transformer could be stretching up on its tippy toes and would still have a mile of cover to eat me.
”
”
Emma McLaughlin (The Real Real)
“
Dip your toe in every ocean and try everything and anything. Learn, explore, take the world on…
”
”
Penelope Douglas (Corrupt (Devil's Night, #1))
“
He was regarding his petrified toes with an expression of fatigued bewilderment, as if he had just woken from a deep sleep only to find himself nailed red and forever to this world.
”
”
Ocean Vuong (On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous)
“
I want Will.
With his long nose and soft eyes. With his strong shoulders and hair wet from the ocean water. With his large hands and warm smile. With his shirt off and sand between his toes.
But not only that. I want him with winter boots on and a hat on his head. I want to see him at Halloween and at Christmas and at Easter too. I don’t want my Will of summer. I want my Will of forever.
”
”
N.S. Perkins (The Infinity Between Us)
“
I run to the water's edge and the cold ocean licks my toes. Without touching my face I can feel that it's wet with fog and tears and sweat. I stand there, on the cusp of the ocean and listen to its loud inhale. And then it recedes and takes everything from my childhood with it the porcelain dolls, the tap-dancing shoes, the concert ticket stubs, the tiny trophies, and the long, long swing.
”
”
Vendela Vida (We Run the Tides)
“
I was taught to be brave from my father. Dip your toe in every ocean and try everything and anything. Learn, explore, take the world on… And from my mom, I learned self-sufficiency. Of course, she’d taught me by default, but watching her showed me exactly who I didn’t want to be. And from Michael—as well as Damon, Will, and Kai—I learned to breathe fire. I learned to walk as if the path were carved for me and me alone, and to treat the world as if it should know I was coming.
”
”
Penelope Douglas (Corrupt (Devil's Night, #1))
“
He did atrocious things, but it was him I wanted. Always, only him.
Troy stopped when we were nose to nose. Toe to toe. I loved watching those eyes from up-close. They were so ocean blue, no wonder they made my head swim.
“I love you, Red. I love you determined, tough, innocent, resilient…” His brows furrowed as he drank me in, stroking the curve of my face with his calloused fingertips. “I love you broken, insecure, scared, furious and pissed off…” He let a small smile loose.
I actually felt it, even though it was on his lips.
“I love every part of you, the good and the bad, the hopeless and the assertive. We don’t just love. We heal each other with every touch and complete each other with ever kiss. And fuck, I know it’s corny as hell, but that’s what I need. You’re what I need.”
My eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear hanging from the tip of my eyelash.
“We don’t have ordinary words between us. You always set my fucking brain on fire when you talk to me. We don’t even have ordinary moments of silence. I always feel like I’m playing with you or being played by you when you’re around. And I refuse to let you walk out on this, on us.”
He cupped my cheeks and I locked his palms in place, tightening my grip. I never wanted him to let go. He dipped his head down, tilting his forehead against mine. I knew he was right. Knew that I’d already forgiven him. Probably before I even knew what he did, when we were still living together. Hell, probably on that dance floor, when I was nine.
My capturer.
My monster.
My savior.
“I’m an asshole, was an asshole, and have every intention of staying an asshole. It’s the makeup of my fucking DNA. But I want to be your asshole. To you, I can be good. Maybe even great. For you, I’ll stop the rain from falling and the thunder from cracking and the wind from fucking blowing. And yes, I sure as hell knew you’d come back. You came straight back into my arms, flew back to your nest, lovebird. Now why would you do that if you didn’t love the shit out of me?”
My eyes roamed his face. His hands felt delicious on my skin. It was like he was pumping life into me with his fingertips. Like he made me whole before I even knew parts of me were missing.
”
”
L.J. Shen (Sparrow (Boston Belles, #0.5))
“
The sea always reminds me of that summer. How the entire world had seemed within reach back then. I remember sitting with my toes in the sand, the vastness of an ocean stretching out before me, and feeling as though the whole universe was mine to be had.
”
”
Katie Bishop (The Girls of Summer)
“
The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean. From it we have learned most of what we know. Recently, we have waded a little out to sea, enough to dampen our toes or, at most, wet our ankles. The water seems inviting. The ocean calls. Some part of our being knows this is from where we came. We long to return.
”
”
Carl Sagan
“
The leaf does not grow before the plant.
The garden does not grow before the flowers.
The forest does not grow before the tree.
The harvest does not grow before the seeds.
The flame does not grow before the spark.
The ocean does not grow before the river.
The finger does not grow before the hand.
The toe does not grow before the foot.
The soul does not grow before the mind.
The heart does not grow before the body.
The world does not grow before the sky.
The heavens do not grow before the universe.
The child does not grow before the family.
The teacher does not grow before the student.
The music does not grow before the artist.
The team does not grow before the coach.
The flock does not grow before the shepherd.
The army does not grow before the warrior.
”
”
Matshona Dhliwayo
“
The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean. From it we have learned most of what we know. Recently, we have waded a little out to sea, enough to dampen our toes or, at most, wet our ankles. The water seems inviting. The ocean calls. Some part of our being knows this is from where we came. We long to return. These aspirations are not, I think, irreverent, although they may trouble whatever gods may be. The
”
”
Carl Sagan (Cosmos)
“
The plane banked, and he pressed his face against the cold window. The ocean tilted up to meet him, its dark surface studded with points of light that looked like constellations, fallen stars. The tourist sitting next to him asked him what they were. Nathan explained that the bright lights marked the boundaries of the ocean cemeteries. The lights that were fainter were memory buoys. They were the equivalent of tombstones on land: they marked the actual graves. While he was talking he noticed scratch-marks on the water, hundreds of white gashes, and suddenly the captain's voice, crackling over the intercom, interrupted him. The ships they could see on the right side of the aircraft were returning from a rehearsal for the service of remembrance that was held on the ocean every year. Towards the end of the week, in case they hadn't realised, a unique festival was due to take place in Moon Beach. It was known as the Day of the Dead...
...When he was young, it had been one of the days he most looked forward to. Yvonne would come and stay, and she'd always bring a fish with her, a huge fish freshly caught on the ocean, and she'd gut it on the kitchen table. Fish should be eaten, she'd said, because fish were the guardians of the soul, and she was so powerful in her belief that nobody dared to disagree. He remembered how the fish lay gaping on its bed of newspaper, the flesh dark-red and subtly ribbed where it was split in half, and Yvonne with her sleeves rolled back and her wrists dipped in blood that smelt of tin.
It was a day that abounded in peculiar traditions. Pass any candy store in the city and there'd be marzipan skulls and sugar fish and little white chocolate bones for 5 cents each. Pass any bakery and you'd see cakes slathered in blue icing, cakes sprinkled with sea-salt.If you made a Day of the Dead cake at home you always hid a coin in it, and the person who found it was supposed to live forever. Once, when she was four, Georgia had swallowed the coin and almost choked. It was still one of her favourite stories about herself. In the afternoon, there'd be costume parties. You dressed up as Lazarus or Frankenstein, or you went as one of your dead relations. Or, if you couldn't think of anything else, you just wore something blue because that was the colour you went when you were buried at the bottom of the ocean. And everywhere there were bowls of candy and slices of special home-made Day of the Dead cake. Nobody's mother ever got it right. You always had to spit it out and shove it down the back of some chair.
Later, when it grew dark, a fleet of ships would set sail for the ocean cemeteries, and the remembrance service would be held. Lying awake in his room, he'd imagine the boats rocking the the priest's voice pushed and pulled by the wind. And then, later still, after the boats had gone, the dead would rise from the ocean bed and walk on the water. They gathered the flowers that had been left as offerings, they blew the floating candles out. Smoke that smelt of churches poured from the wicks, drifted over the slowly heaving ocean, hid their feet. It was a night of strange occurrences. It was the night that everyone was Jesus...
...Thousands drove in for the celebrations. All Friday night the streets would be packed with people dressed head to toe in blue. Sometimes they painted their hands and faces too. Sometimes they dyed their hair. That was what you did in Moon Beach. Turned blue once a year. And then, sooner or later, you turned blue forever.
”
”
Rupert Thomson (The Five Gates of Hell)
“
Go faster,” I urged Steven, poking him in the shoulder. “Let’s pass that kid on the bike.”
Steven shrugged me off. “Never touch the driver,” he said. “And take your dirty feet off my dashboard.”
I wiggled my toes back and forth. They looked pretty clean to me. “It’s not your dashboard. It’s gonna be my car soon, you know.”
“If you ever get your license,” he scoffed. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.”
“Hey, look,” I said, pointing out the window. “That guy in a wheelchair just lapped us!”
Steven ignored me, and so I started to fiddle with the radio. One of my favorite things about going to the beach was the radio stations. I was as familiar with them as I was with the ones back home, and listening to Q94 made me just really know inside that I was there, at the beach.
I found my favorite station, the one that played everything from pop to oldies to hip-hop. Tom Petty was singing “Free Fallin’.” I sang right along with him. “She’s a good girl, crazy ‘bout Elvis. Loves horses and her boyfriend too.”
Steven reached over to switch stations, and I slapped his hand away. “Belly, your voice makes me want to run this car into the ocean.” He pretended to swerve right.
I sang even louder, which woke up my mother, and she started to sing too. We both had terrible voices, and Steven shook his head in his disgusted Steven way. He hated being outnumbered.
”
”
Jenny Han (The Summer I Turned Pretty (Summer, #1))
“
if somebody is waking for the first time from a deep sleep, she might see the midnight stars. But if she waits long enough without going back to sleep, she will begin to see not only stars, but the dawn, then the sunrise, and then the whole landscape being lit by a brilliant light coming from the sky. She will begin to see her hands, her palms, her toes, and she will also begin to see her tables, her chairs, and the world around her. And if she is clever enough to look at a mirror, she will see herself as well.
”
”
Chögyam Trungpa (The Path of Individual Liberation: The Profound Treasury of the Ocean of Dharma, Volume One)
“
I am glad,” she whispered, “that you do not love that queen. Or Nesryn.” His heart thundered through every inch of him. Yrene rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss, light as a caress, to his mouth. Never breaking his stare. He read the unspoken words there. He wondered if she read the ones not voiced by him, either. “I will cherish it always,” Yrene said, and he knew she wasn’t talking about the locket. Not as she lowered a hand from his face to his chest. Atop his raging heart. “No matter what may befall the world.” Another featherlight kiss. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.
”
”
Sarah J. Maas (Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass, #6))
“
For three weeks straight I had been observing the ocean. On the twenty-first day, I saw a man running along the shoreline. I could hear his feet hitting the sand. It was the first time I was able to discern with utter precision every nuance, every gearshift, every soft click of another person's mind.
He remembered that he was there to run, and he even remembered a time there was a reason for it. He did not remember the reason, nor did he want to. He feared he might be running for the old reasons, and didn't want to imitate himself. That would be running in place. Not too far down below the top shelves of memory he knew he was there to run for a reason, but still he decided to invent a different reason. He was reinvigorated by this decision to find a new reason, and ran even faster. He’d run seventeen miles when he realized in dismay that he'd forgotten to do it. He’d been running off the memory of an idea.
He was exhausted and his lungs burned. He pushed his head into the sand and his legs ran in a circle around his head that he was screwing into the sand. He pushed down and screw-drove himself until only his toes stuck out. His toes were twined around each other. I could no longer hear his thoughts. Was he dead? His heart was still beating.
”
”
Miranda Mellis (The Revisionist)
“
But how…how am I a dragon? How are you a starman?”
“I don’t think of myself as a starman, exactly,” he said soberly, though I sensed he wanted to smile. His hand released mine, the bridge broken; he moved to hang the lantern on a shiny new hook dug into the wall behind us. “I was born here, on earth. Not even far from here, in fact. Just over in Devon. My parents died young, when I was only five. Hastings is my great-uncle and he took me in, and I’ve lived here ever since. But I’ve always known what I am, as far back as I can remember. I’ve always been able to do the things I do. The stars have always spoken to me.”
“And you…speak back to them?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“But not to people.”
“No. Just to Hastings, and to you.”
A shiver took me; I crossed my arms over my chest. “What do the stars say?”
“All manner of things. Amazing things. Secret things. Things great and small, things profound and insignificant. They told me that, throughout time, there’ve been only a scattering of people like me, folk of both flesh and star. That even the whisper of their magic in my blood could annihilate me if I didn’t learn to control it. That I’d crisp to ash without control. Or, worse, crisp someone else.” His smile broke through. “And they told me about you. That you were born and would come to me when the time was right.”
“Did you summon me here?” The muted echo of my voice rebounded against the firefly walls: here-here-here. “To Iverson, I mean?”
…mean-mean-mean…
He didn’t answer at first. He looked at his feet, then walked to the edge of the embankment and squatted down, raking his fingers through the bright water near the toes of his boots.
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” he said softly to the water. “Both infinite and finite, human and not. I’m of comet and clay and the sparks of sun across the ocean waves.” He sighed. “I know what it’s like to doubt yourself, to comprehend that you’re so unique you’re forced to wonder about…everything. But, yes, I called you to Iverson.
”
”
Shana Abe (The Sweetest Dark (The Sweetest Dark, #1))
“
I told him about how our second form teacher, Miss Crane, drew the tiniest chalk mark on the blackboard and explained that a point is “zero-dimensional,” meaning it doesn’t actually exist. But once you have two points—two nonexistent points—you can fill in the space between with lots and lots of points, and you get a line, which has length, so it’s now one dimension, which you could argue means it does now exist. Miss Crane dotted her chalk against the board, over and over, in a straight line, demonstrating how a series of nothings could become something. (Actually, you could also argue the line still doesn’t exist, it’s just a concept, but I’d learned by then not to add caveats to everything I said. This was, after all, a love letter.) I told Jack how I leaned forward that day in class as if I stood with my toes hanging over the very precipice of enlightenment. In my naivete, I believed Miss Crane was about to explain something that explained everything. Something I felt I almost already knew, but could not articulate; it was related to infinity and God, the ocean and space, the universe and my dad. Of course, I did not achieve enlightenment in my geometry lesson. Miss Crane put the chalk down and told us to take out our compasses and protractors. I told Jack that when I was with him, I felt like I was close to understanding what I had nearly understood that day.
”
”
Liane Moriarty (Here One Moment)
“
No one charged you with being my savior,” Camille’s voice shook, the confrontation not something she really wanted.
“No one had to charge me with it. I made the decision on my own the night the Christina went down.” Oscar sealed his lips as if he’d let something slip he hadn’t intended.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her boots slipping once on the moss. He avoided her by looking out at the stream. He took a few moments to answer, and when he did he still didn’t meet her stare.
“Do you remember when you woke up on the Londoner? When you asked me if I’d seen your father?”
Camille nodded, and hoped their argument was over. “You said you didn’t see him.”
He shook his head. “I lied. I did see him in the water. He was trying to stay above the surface after I got ahold of the dory.”
It was as though freezing shocks of ocean water were striking Camille in the face all over again. She jumped from the rock, the hem of her skirt nearly tripping her.
“Did you row to him? Did you try and save him?”
He shook his head again. “No.”
“Why not?” she screeched. “Oscar, how could you not help him?” She couldn’t blink. She couldn’t do anything but stare at him in disbelief. He’d abandoned her father, the man who had given him everything.
“Because I spotted you,” he answered, hardly loud enough for her to hear. “I saw you in the waves and I chose to row to you.”
She loosened her fists, stunned.
Oscar sat down on the rock, the toes of his scuffed leather boots buried in the dry layer of pine needles.
“I tried to go back for him,” he said, kicking at the needles, “but by the time I pulled you out of the water and looked back, he was gone.”
She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. If she’d only held on to her father’s hand. Oscar would have been able to save them both.
“If there had just been a way to get to the both of you,” he said.
Camille sat on the rock beside him, laying a tentative hand on his arm. “You’re the most capable man I know, Oscar. If there had been a way, you’d have found it.”
She pressed her hand against his solid arm, the flaxen hairs covering his skin coarse against her fingertips. She wanted to soothe him more, reassure him like he always did her.
”
”
Angie Frazier (Everlasting (Everlasting, #1))
“
You need to get home, both of you. Louis, I’d like to keep the letters here, if you don’t mind. I want to go over them again.”
I came to my feet. “And ask the stars about them?”
Jesse nodded. Armand only shook his head, gloomy. There were bruises under his eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Ask the-fine. Splendid. Keep them if you like. Burn them. Turn them to gold or silver or lead. In the morning I’ll wake up and none of this will have happened.”
“No, lordling,” I said to him. “You’re never going to wake like that again, and you’re never going to be able to forget.”
“Bugger you, waif.”
“And you.”
He walked past both of us without another glance or another word, opened the door, and disappeared into the night.
I went to Jesse and wrapped my arms around him. After only a second’s hesitation, his arms lifted to embrace me, too.
“I don’t want to go,” I whispered.
I felt his chest expand beneath my cheek. “This is going to be much more difficult than I anticipated.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” He brought a hand to my hair, his fingers weaving through. “Things are about to change rapidly now, Lora. He’ll come back to us stronger and stronger. He’s going to crave you more and more, and not having you will eat him raw.”
I frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”
Jesse tucked a strand behind my ear, his eyes emerald dark, his lashes tipped with candlelight. “It will be in his nature. He’ll feel compelled to claim you, and he won’t stop trying to do that. Ever. When that happens-“
“That is not bloody going to happen.”
“When that happens,” he said again resolutely, “I want you to remember two things. One: I’ve loved you since before he even knew you lived. Two: Spare a little pity for him. This isn’t entirely his fault. He was born into his role, just as you and I were. But, Lora-of-the-moon-only a little pity, all right?”
“My pity may reach as deep and wide as the ocean,” I answered. “But my heart is already claimed.”
To prove it, I clutched his shirt and lifted myself to my toes and brought my lips to his.
Sweeter than raspberry jam, warmer than candle flame, softer than bread.
People often spoke with religious rapture of milk and honey, but if I had nothing but Jesse to consume for the rest of my days, I’d die a heathen beast, content.
”
”
Shana Abe (The Sweetest Dark (The Sweetest Dark, #1))
“
In the deep woods of the far North, under feathery leaves of fern, was a great fairyland of merry elves, sometimes called forest brownies.
These elves lived joyfully. They had everything at hand and did not need to worry much about living. Berries and nuts grew plentiful in the forest. Rivers and springs provided the elves with crystal water. Flowers prepared them drink from their flavorful juices, which the munchkins loved greatly.
At midnight the elves climbed into flower cups and drank drops of their sweet water with much delight. Every elf would tell a wonderful fairy tale to the flower to thank it for the treat.
Despite this abundance, the pixies did not sit back and do nothing. They tinkered with their tasks all day long. They cleaned their houses. They swung on tree branches and swam in forested streams. Together with the early birds, they welcomed the sunrise, listened to the thunder growling, the whispering of leaves and blades of grass, and the conversations of the animals.
The birds told them about warm countries, sunbeams whispered of distant seas, and the moon spoke of treasures hidden deeply in the earth.
In winter, the elves lived in abandoned nests and hollows. Every sunny day they came out of their burrows and made the forest ring with their happy shouts, throwing tiny snowballs in all directions and building snowmen as small as the pinky finger of a little girl. The munchkins thought they were giants five times as large as them.
With the first breath of spring, the elves left their winter residences and moved to the cups of the snowdrop flowers. Looking around, they watched the snow as it turned black and melted. They kept an eye on the blossoming of hazel trees while the leaves were still sleeping in their warm buds. They observed squirrels moving their last winter supplies from storage back to their homes. Gnomes welcomed the birds coming back to their old nests, where the elves lived during winters. Little by little, the forest once more grew green.
One moonlight night, elves were sitting at an old willow tree and listening to mermaids singing about their underwater kingdom.
“Brothers! Where is Murzilka? He has not been around for a long time!” said one of the elves, Father Beardie, who had a long white beard. He was older than others and well respected in his striped stocking cap.
“I’m here,” a snotty voice arose, and Murzilka himself, nicknamed Feather Head, jumped from the top of the tree. All the brothers loved Murzilka, but thought he was lazy, as he actually was. Also, he loved to dress in a tailcoat, tall black hat, boots with narrow toes, a cane and a single eyeglass, being very proud of that look.
“Do you know where I’m coming from? The very Arctic Ocean!” roared he.
Usually, his words were hard to believe. That time, though, his announcement sounded so marvelous that all elves around him were agape with wonder.
“You were there, really? Were you? How did you get there?” asked the sprites.
“As easy as ABC! I came by the fox one day and caught her packing her things to visit her cousin, a silver fox who lives by the Arctic Ocean.
“Take me with you,” I said to the fox.
“Oh, no, you’ll freeze there! You know, it’s cold there!” she said.
“Come on.” I said. “What are you talking about? What cold? Summer is here.”
“Here we have summer, but there they have winter,” she answered.
“No,” I thought. “She must be lying because she does not want to give me a ride.”
Without telling her a word, I jumped upon her back and hid in her bushy fur, so even Father Frost could not find me.
Like it or not, she had to take me with her.
We ran for a long time. Another forest followed our woods, and then a boundless plain opened, a swamp covered with lichen and moss. Despite the intense heat, it had not entirely thawed.
“This is tundra,” said my fellow traveler.
“Tundra? What is tundra?” asked I.
“Tundra is a huge, forever frozen wetland covering the entire coast of the Arctic Ocean.
”
”
Anna Khvolson
“
During the age of sail, when wind-powered vessels were the only bridge across the vast oceans, nautical language was so pervasive that it was adopted by those on terra firma. To “toe the line” derives from when boys on a ship were forced to stand still for inspection with their toes on a deck seam. To “pipe down” was the boatswain’s whistle for everyone to be quiet at night, and “piping hot” was his call for meals. A “scuttlebutt” was a water cask around which the seamen gossiped while waiting for their rations. A ship was “three sheets to the wind” when the lines to the sails broke and the vessel pitched drunkenly out of control. To “turn a blind eye” became a popular expression after Vice-Admiral Nelson deliberately placed his telescope against his blind eye to ignore his superior’s signal flag to retreat.
”
”
David Grann (The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder)
“
Above the roar of pounding waves, Kya called to the birds. The ocean sang bass, the gulls sang soprano. Shrieking and crying, they circled over the marsh and above the sand as she threw piecrust and yeast rolls onto the beach. Legs hanging down, heads twisting, they landed. A few birds pecked gently between her toes, and she laughed from the tickling until tears streamed down her cheeks, and finally great, ragged sobs erupted from that tight place below her throat. When the carton was empty she didn't think she could stand the pain, so afraid they would leave her like everybody else. But the gulls squatted on the beach around her and went about their business of preening their gray extended wings. So she sat down too and wished she could gather them up and take them with her to the porch to sleep. She imagined them all packed in her bed, a fluffy bunch of warm, feathered bodies under the covers together.
”
”
Delia Owens (Where the Crawdads Sing)
“
Above the roar of pounding waves, Kya called to the birds. The ocean sang bass, the gulls sang soprano. Shrieking and crying, they circled over the marsh and above the sand as she threw piecrust and yeast rolls onto the beach. Legs hanging down, heads twisting, they landed. A few birds pecked gently between her toes, and she laughed from the tickling until tears streamed down her cheeks, and finally great, ragged sobs erupted from that tight place below her throat. When the carton was empty she didn’t think she could stand the pain, so afraid they would leave her like everybody else. But the gulls squatted on the beach around her and went about their business of preening their gray extended wings. So she sat down too and wished she could gather them up and take them with her to the porch to sleep. She imagined them all packed in her bed, a fluffy bunch of warm, feathered bodies under the covers together.
”
”
Delia Owens (Where the Crawdads Sing)
“
Flower Beds by Maisie Aletha Smikle
Flower beds in a row
Like tic toc toe
Spread the mulch
Pluck the weeds and mow
Water the flower beds
And flowers will bud
Colorful blooms
All season long
Welcome the sunshine
From heaven’s furnace
Anchored far up in the sky
Gentle rays beam from up above
A round ball of fire way up in the sky
Always suspended in the anchored sky
Shines its radiant beams from way up high
Warming the sprouting flower beds
Sunlight Moonlight Starlight
Warm gentle and bright
Make the flower beds bright
Glowing softly in the night
Thanks for the moon
Thanks for the stars
Thanks for the sun
Thanks for the soft radiant beams of light
That make the flower beds beautiful and bright
In colorful shades of red
Yellow orange black pink
Purple green and white
In the blooming flower bed
Sat a rabbit called Skip
Watching the horizon as the circle of fire slowly dip
Diving slowly into the ocean deep
”
”
Maisie Aletha Smikle
“
he same goes for new situations. Imagine a child who’s more afraid of the ocean than are other kids the same age. Thoughtful parents recognize that this fear is natural and even wise; the ocean is indeed dangerous. But they don’t allow her to spend the summer on the safety of the dunes, and neither do they drop her in the water and expect her to swim. Instead they signal that they understand her unease, while urging her to take small steps. Maybe they play in the sand for a few days with the ocean waves crashing at a safe distance. Then one day they approach the water’s edge, perhaps with the child riding on a parent’s shoulders. They wait for calm weather, or low tide, to immerse a toe, then a foot, then a knee. They don’t rush; every small step is a giant stride in a child’s world. When ultimately she learns to swim like a fish, she has reached a crucial turning point in her relationship not only with water but also with fear
”
”
Susan Cain (Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking)
“
The same goes for new situations. Imagine a child who’s more afraid of the ocean than are other kids the same age. Thoughtful parents recognize that this fear is natural and even wise; the ocean is indeed dangerous. But they don’t allow her to spend the summer on the safety of the dunes, and neither do they drop her in the water and expect her to swim. Instead they signal that they understand her unease, while urging her to take small steps. Maybe they play in the sand for a few days with the ocean waves crashing at a safe distance. Then one day they approach the water’s edge, perhaps with the child riding on a parent’s shoulders. They wait for calm weather, or low tide, to immerse a toe, then a foot, then a knee. They don’t rush; every small step is a giant stride in a child’s world. When ultimately she learns to swim like a fish, she has reached a crucial turning point in her relationship not only with water but also with fear.
”
”
Susan Cain (Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking)
“
I don’t know how to make things better.”
“You’re doing that right now,” Jack told her. “You’re making things better by saving the Fairy Homelands. By finding out who you are. By doing exactly what she doesn’t want you to do. Don’t you get it? The fact that she’s trying so hard to keep us from finding that out, that must mean something! There must be a reason!”
“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll find out and live happily ever after.”
“Happily ever what?”
“It means that I’ll be happy forever, ‘cause that’s how fairy-uh, kids stories end,” May said, the wind blowing her hair. “Except they don’t, do they? Obviously not.”
“Uh, no,” Jack said, giving her a confused look. “How could anyone possibly be happy forever? You really think you’re never going to stub your toe, or get sick, or fight with your friend? No one lives happily never after.”
“Ever after.”
“Whatever. I’ve never heard of anything so stupid. Talk about a kid’s story.”
“So what’s the point, then, if we can’t be happy? Why are we doing any of this?”
“Oh, there’s definitely happiness,” Jack said, turning his back on the ocean and looking at her. “But it’s just about moments, not ever-afters.” He grinned. “Like when you’re right in the middle of the worst adventure imaginable, but for a minute, it’s just about sitting on a boat in the middle of the ocean with your friend, with no one trying to kill you in any horrifying way. You have to appreciate these moments when they happen, ‘cause obviously we don’t get many of them.
”
”
James Riley (Twice Upon a Time (Half Upon a Time, #2))
“
A child kicked me. “What the fuck?” I said, looking down and seeing a young Chinese girl with a vinyl Hello Kitty knapsack. She laughed, and then she kicked me again, harder. I looked at her parents, but they both had dead, distant faces. The resigned expressions of older parents who had accidentally had a child, late in life. No doubt their little girl had kicked them both senseless, and now they were oblivious. But I was not oblivious. And I was not amused. “Stop that,” I said, leaning down and speaking into the top of her head. “Don’t kick.” She kicked again. The little fucker. I bent down. “Do you speak English?” I asked, sweetly. I smiled. “Do you speak English, you little cutie pie?” She nodded, gave a little giggle, and then stepped on my toes, which were exposed through the straps of my sandals. I immediately stopped smiling and narrowed my eyes. I whispered, “You kick me one more time you little cocksucker, and once we get on the boat, I’ll push your mother into the ocean, and she’ll die. And then I’ll hurt your daddy. And then I’ll be your new daddy, and I’ll take you home with me.” She moved quickly to the other side of her parents, where she kept a wary, silent eye on me. “Next time people ask if we’re ever going to have kids, I think I’ll tell them this little story,” Dennis said. “What?” I said, indignant. “She’s a horrible, spoiled little bitch.” “She’s just a little girl,” he said. I laughed. “Little girl, my ass. She’s a little Chinese dragon.” Dennis rolled his eyes, and we finally boarded the glass-bottom boat.
”
”
Augusten Burroughs (Magical Thinking)
“
Twirling on the sand, she quotes Emma Goldman to him in a song. “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be in your revolution.” He steps up. Come on, Gia, he says, be in my revolution. She is barefoot on the sand. Where are her stockings? She hasn’t taken them off; they’re not lying in a heap nearby. When his open palm goes around her waist, he can’t feel her corset, he feels velvet and under it the curve of her natural waist and lower back. Suddenly he has three left feet and, usually such a capable dancer, can’t move backward or forward. She steps on his awkward toes a few times, laughs, and they trip and fall to their knees on the sand. What’s gotten into you, Harry, she says. I can’t imagine, he says, his eyes roaming wildly over her flushed and eager face. Both his hands are entwining the narrow space from which her hips begin. It’s late afternoon on the wide Hampton beach; it’s gray and foggy when he kisses her. He’s never kissed Sicilian lips before, only Bostonian. There is a boiling ocean of contrast between the two. Boston girls were born and raised on soil that was frozen from October to April and breathed through perfectly colored mouths that took in chill winds and fog from the stormy harbor. But his Sicilian queen has roamed the Mediterranean meadows and her abundant lips breathed in fearsome fire from Typhonic volcanoes. He kisses her as if they are alone at night—as if she is already his. His arms wrap around her back and press her to him. They become suspended, he floats like a phantom around her in the moist air. He won’t let her go, he can’t.
”
”
Paullina Simons (Children of Liberty (The Bronze Horseman, #0.5))
“
LATE ONE AFTERNOON, after watching for Chase Andrews, Kya walks from her shack and lies back on a sliver of beach, slick from the last wave. She stretches her arms over her head, brushing them against the wet sand, and extends her legs, toes pointed. Eyes closed, she rolls slowly toward the sea. Her hips and arms leave slight indentions in the glistening sand, brightening and then dimming as she moves. Rolling nearer the waves, she senses the ocean’s roar through the length of her body and feels the question: When will the sea touch me? Where will it touch me first? The foamy surge rushes the shore, reaching toward her. Tingling with expectancy, she breathes deep. Turns more and more slowly. With each revolution, just before her face sweeps the sand, she lifts her head gently and takes in the sun-salt smell. I am close, very close. It is coming. When will I feel it? A fever builds. The sand wetter beneath her, the rumble of surf louder. Even slower, by inches she moves, waiting for the touch. Soon, soon. Almost feeling it before it comes. She wants to open her eyes to peek, to see how much longer. But she resists, squinting her lids even tighter, the sky bright behind them, giving no hints. Suddenly she shrieks as the power rushes beneath her, fondles her thighs, between her legs, flows along her back, swirling under her head, pulling her hair in inky strands. She rolls faster into the deepening wave, against streaming shells and ocean bits, the water embracing her. Pushing against the sea’s strong body, she is grasped, held. Not alone. Kya sits up and opens her eyes to the ocean foaming around her in soft white patterns, always changing.
”
”
Delia Owens (Where the Crawdads Sing)
“
Dear Matt,
In less than a day, I’ ll be standing on the same sand you stood on so many times before. Well, not the same sand, with the tides and winds and erosion and all of that, but the same symbolic sand. I’m so excited and scared that I can’ t sleep – even though I have to wake up in five hours!
You know, I saved every one of your postcards. They’re here in a box under my bed – all the little stories you sent, like little pieces of California. Like the beach glass you guys always brought me. Sometimes I dump it out on my desk and press my ear to the pieces, trying to hear the ocean. Trying to hear you.
But you don’ t say anything.
Remember how you’ d come back from your vacation on the beach and tell me what it really felt like? What the ocean sounded like at dawn when the beach was deserted? What your hair and skin tasted like after swimming in saltwater all day? How the sand could burn your feet as you walked on it, but if you stuck your toes in, it was cold and wet underneath? How you spent three hours sitting on Ocean Beach just to watch the sun sink into the water a million miles away? If I closed my eyes as you were talking, it was like I was there, like your stories were my stories. In many ways, I feel as if I have memories of you there, too. Do you think that’s crazy?
Matt, please don’ t think badly about Frankie’s contest. It’s just a silly game. It’s so Frankie, you know?
No, I guess you wouldn’ t. You’ d kill her if you did!
She just misses you. We all do. I’ ll look out for her, though. I promise.
Please watch over us tomorrow, and for the next few weeks while we’re away. You’ ll be in my thoughts the whole time, like always.
I’m going to find some red sea glass for you.
I miss you more than you could ever know.
Love,
Anna
”
”
Sarah Ockler (Twenty Boy Summer)
“
Like noiseless nautilus shells, their light prows sped through the sea; but only slowly they neared the foe. As they neared him, the ocean grew still more smooth; seemed drawing a carpet over its waves; seemed a noon-meadow, so serenely it spread. At length the breathless hunter came so nigh his seemingly unsuspecting prey, that his entire dazzling hump was distinctly visible, sliding along the sea as if an isolated thing, and continually set in a revolving ring of finest, fleecy, greenish foam. He saw the vast, involved wrinkles of the slightly projecting head beyond. Before it, far out on the soft Turkish-rugged waters, went the glistening white shadow from his broad, milky forehead, a musical rippling playfully accompanying the shade; and behind, the blue waters interchangeably flowed over into the moving valley of his steady wake; and on either hand bright bubbles arose and danced by his side. But these were broken again by the light toes of hundreds of gay fowl softly feathering the sea, alternate with their fitful flight; and like to some flag-staff rising from the painted hull of an argosy, the tall but shattered pole of a recent lance projected from the white whale's back; and at intervals one of the cloud of soft-toed fowls hovering, and to and fro skimming like a canopy over the fish, silently perched and rocked on this pole, the long tail feathers streaming like pennons. A gentle joyousness—a mighty mildness of repose in swiftness, invested the gliding whale. Not the white bull Jupiter swimming away with ravished Europa clinging to his graceful horns; his lovely, leering eyes sideways intent upon the maid; with smooth bewitching fleetness, rippling straight for the nuptial bower in Crete; not Jove, not that great majesty Supreme! did surpass the glorified White Whale as he so divinely swam.
”
”
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, The Whale)
“
I used to be a roller coaster girl"
(for Ntozake Shange)
I used to be a roller coaster girl
7 times in a row
No vertigo in these skinny legs
My lipstick bubblegum pink
As my panther 10 speed.
never kissed
Nappy pigtails, no-brand gym shoes
White lined yellow short-shorts
Scratched up legs pedaling past borders of
humus and baba ganoush
Masjids and liquor stores
City chicken, pepperoni bread
and superman ice cream
Cones.
Yellow black blending with bits of Arabic
Islam and Catholicism.
My daddy was Jesus
My mother was quiet
Jayne Kennedy was worshipped
by my brother Mark
I don’t remember having my own bed before 12.
Me and my sister Lisa shared.
Sometimes all three Moore girls slept in the Queen.
You grow up so close
never close enough.
I used to be a roller coaster girl
Wild child full of flowers and ideas
Useless crushes on polish boys
in a school full of white girls.
Future black swan singing
Zeppelin, U2 and Rick Springfield
Hoping to be Jessie’s Girl
I could outrun my brothers and
Everybody else to that
reoccurring line
I used to be a roller coaster girl
Till you told me I was moving too fast
Said my rush made your head spin
My laughter hurt your ears
A scream of happiness
A whisper of freedom
Pouring out my armpits
Sweating up my neck
You were always the scared one
I kept my eyes open for the entire trip
Right before the drop I would brace myself
And let that force push my head back into
That hard iron seat
My arms nearly fell off a few times
Still, I kept running back to the line
When I was done
Same way I kept running back to you
I used to be a roller coaster girl
I wasn’t scared of mountains or falling
Hell, I looked forward to flying and dropping
Off this earth and coming back to life
every once in a while
I found some peace in being out of control
allowing my blood to race
through my veins for 180 seconds
I earned my sometime nicotine pull
I buy my own damn drinks & the ocean
Still calls my name when it feels my toes
Near its shore.
I still love roller coasters
& you grew up to be
Afraid
of all girls who cld
ride
Fearlessly
like
me.
”
”
Jessica Care Moore
“
Oh, Gray, she said. Oh, gray, indeed. As in, oh Gray what the holy hell has come over you and what the devil do you intend to do about it?
He took the coward’s way out. He looked away.
“I thought you were painting a portrait. Of me.”
She turned her head, following his gaze to her easel. A vast seascape overflowed the small canvas. Towering thunderclouds and a violent, frothy sea. And slightly off center, a tiny ship cresting a massive wave.
“I am painting you.”
“What, am I on the little boat, then?” It was a relief to joke.
The relief was short-lived.
“No,” she said softly, turning back to look at him. “I’m on the little boat. You’re the storm. And the ocean. You’re…Gray, you’re everything.”
And that was when things went from “very bad” to “worse.”
“I can’t take credit for the composition. It’s inspired by a painting I once saw, in a gallery on Queen Anne Street. By a Mr. Turner.”
“Turner. Yes, I know his work. No relation, I suppose?”
“No.” She looked back at the canvas. “When I saw it that day, so brash and wild…I could feel the tempest churning in my blood. I just knew then and there, that I had something inside me-a passion too bold, too grand to keep squeezed inside a drawing room. First I tried to deny it, and then I tried to run from it…and then I met you, and I saw you have it, too. Don’t deny it, Gray. Don’t run from it and leave me alone.”
She sat up, still rubbing his cheek with her thumb. Grasping his other hand, she drew it to her naked breast. Oh, God. She was every bit as soft as he’d dreamed. Softer. And there went his hand now. Trembling.
“Touch me, Gray.” She leaned forward, until her lips paused a mere inch away from his. “Kiss me.”
Perhaps that dagger had missed his heart after all, because the damned thing was hammering away inside his chest. And oh, he could taste her sweet breath mingling with his. Her lips were so close, so inviting.
So dangerous.
Panic-that’s what had his knees trembling and his heart hammering and his lips spouting foolishness. It had to be panic. Because something told Gray that he could see her mostly naked, and watch her toes curl as she reached her climax, and even cup her dream-soft breast in his palm-but somehow, if he touched his lips to hers, he would be lost.
“Please,” she whispered. “Kiss me.
”
”
Tessa Dare (Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy, #2))
“
Sam Underwater, everything is quiet. Tranquil. Like heaven is all around you, caressing your body, pulling you into its embrace. Deeper and deeper, it pulls at your legs until they beg to be released. I hold my water-resistant camera in front of me and take multiple pictures of the cold depths of the ocean. Its beauty never fails to mesmerize me. But I can’t stay for too long; sooner or later, that urge to breathe always pulls me back to the surface toward the dark sky littered with a million flickering lights … back into the noise of swooshing water and rushing wind. The shore is mostly deserted, except for a few beer cans, party cups, and some clothes and trash lying scattered all around. The only other person there is Nate Wilson … the most handsome guy at school and so much more than that. He’s sitting on a few rocks near the edge of the beach with a girl by his side. I can’t stop watching. Their hands touch briefly, but then the wave overtakes me and blocks my view. When the water lowers, I shake my head, but the waves keep picking up. Still, I hold up my camera and take a few pictures. Right as he turns his head toward me, I dive underwater again. Here, there are no boys, no girls, and no secret touches. Just me and the water, and all the beautiful creatures below that need to meet my camera. A single picture says more than words ever will. No matter how powerful they are. Nate People say it only takes a few minutes for your life to be destroyed. I never believed them … until today. With just the snap of a finger, a stupid decision and a simple push, I marked my own fate. My body grows colder and colder the longer I stay in the water. It consumes me whole as I stray farther and farther away from myself. From reality. I’m so damn dizzy, but I can’t collapse here. Not now, not in the middle of the ocean. I take a deep breath and peel my eyes open, forcing myself to go. That’s when I spot her … the girl and her camera. FLASH. I cover my eyes with my hand. Salty seawater enters my nostrils and mouth as I struggle to swim. When I open my eyes again, the girl is gone; swallowed by the same waves that drag me back to the shore. As my feet sink into the sand and the water creeps up against my toes, I stop and turn around, clutching the long red hairs in my hand as though they’re my last lifeline. This is now the place where not only my life changed forever. But hers too.
”
”
Clarissa Wild (Cruel Boy)
“
They picked up shells and sea glass, pebbles smooth and white. The wind blew and the surf hissed warm over their toes, sucked the sand from under their soles. The rhythm, the pulse of the sea soothed and electrified.
”
”
Terri-Lynne DeFino (The Bar Harbor Retirement Home for Famous Writers (And Their Muses))
“
Seriously, you’re swimming in an ocean of testosterone over there, darling, dip your vadge in that beautiful sea!” I say drily, “I think the saying is ‘Dip your toe.’” He scoffs. “Toe, vadge, whatever. Get it
”
”
J.T. Geissinger (Ache for You (Slow Burn, #3))
“
Entertaining Possibilities
"Why sometimes I've believed as many as
six impossible things before breakfast."
- The Queen of Hearts,
Alice in Wonderland
riding bareback
on a triceratops
through green galaxies
while you ride beside me
on your favorite mastodon
running a finger
over those I love
and like a highlighter pen
turning them neon
noting them forever
so I can return to them
easily
when I need them
thinking something good
can come
of "ethnic cleansing"
swimming in an ocean
deep and wet enough
to fill the eternity
of love
between these two
sheets
walking into the vowels
of a word like open
and becoming it
locking away
Pandora's box
putting evil back
in its place for good
and swallowing the key
lighting myself
with a single match
then watching me melt
warm and liquid
over your body
cooling gently
in the shape of you
sitting flat
in round anticipation
I will be page 233 in the book
that you have just opened
and I will chew on each delicious moment
of every turn
as you move
page by page
closer
to me
stowing away
in your pillowcase
and sailing your dreams
so that when you are sent to walk the plank
I can catch you
together we can be
the mutiny
on any bounty
letting my best ideas ripen
beside yours
on the vine
then stomping it all juicy
between toes
yours and mine
aging
then bottling it all
till the sun falls
and we uncork
our store
one by one
and drink
forever in the twilight
planting a memory
watering the spot
watching it grow
tall, tender, familiar,
then putting my ear
to its blossom
and hearing
my grandmother's voice
tell me
again
that I can be both the gift
and the giver
”
”
Nancy Boutilier (On the Eighth Day Adam Slept Alone: New Poems)
“
Knowing that he couldn’t play this strange music with such reservations and distractions, he strove to find a calming place within himself. To remember and fall back into a time when he was a boy and Cadence was all he had known. When he loved the sea and the hills and the mountains, the caves and the heather and the rivers. A time when he had yearned to behold a spirit, face-to-face.
His fingers grew nimble, and Lorna’s notes began to trickle into the air, metallic beneath his nails. He could hardly contain the splendor of them anymore, and he played and felt as if he were not flesh and blood and bone but made by the sea foam, as if he had emerged one night from the ocean, from all the haunted deep places where man had never roamed but where spirits glided and drank and moved beneath.
He sang up the spirits of the sea, the timeless beings that belonged to the cold depths. He sang them up to the surface, to the moonlight, with Lorna’s ballad. He watched the tide cease, just as it had done the night he returned to Cadence. He watched eyes gleam from beneath the water like golden coins; he watched webbed fingers and toes drift beneath the shallow ripples. The spirits manifested into their physical forms; they came with barbed fins and tentacle, with hair like spilled ink, with gills and iridescent scales and endless rows of teeth. They rose from the water and gathered close about him, as if he had called them home.
”
”
Rebecca Ross (A River Enchanted (Elements of Cadence, #1))
“
You go on a trip knowing that you’re going to see a certain sight, and then you’re going to come home and most likely never see it again. You know as you stare out across a desert or dip your toes in an ocean that this is the last time for this specific experience, at least for a long time, and that you need to soak it up and treasure it and remember everything about it for later. So you pause and make sure to properly take it in.
”
”
Suzy Krause (Valencia and Valentine)
“
If Principal Hargrove can silence anyone who disagrees with him, how will the truth ever be seen? How will anyone get to the bottom of this? There are no longer two sides to what is happening.
The thought sends a tremor of fear down to my toes, and I remember what Ben said all those years ago in his monkey swim trunks when I asked him if you could see the other side of the ocean: There's only one side. The waves go on forever.
”
”
Aaron Hartzler (What We Saw)
“
A wetness touched Elliott’s bare feet, as if the ocean licked her toes and swam beneath the arches of each foot. Except this wasn’t seawater; it was a torrent of her mother’s tears.
”
”
Kristi Strong (Balloon Days)
“
Pitch darkness,
sand inbetween my toes,
lying on the ground.
noiseless...
just my woes
and the waves sound.
Don't know where the dark sky ends,
nor where the ocean begins...
it feels like i'm floating
close to the stars.
”
”
Evelyn Janeidy Arevalo
“
The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,
shoulders, and all the rest
at night
in the black branches,
in the morning
in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather
plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,
lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body's world,
instinct
and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility
to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
where no one is —
so it enters us —
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;
and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.
”
”
Mary Oliver (Dream Work)
“
They're the finest of salicornes, green beans from the sea, from Brittany, très exotique. I thought you'd adore them."
She holds out a large bag and, without even opening it, the scent envelops me and I'm no longer in the restaurant. I'm running by the ocean, powdery sand sticking in between my toes, waves crashing around me as I dive into the sea with reckless abandon. The water swells into a froth, whipped like freshly made Chantilly. My body glistens with water droplets.
”
”
Samantha Verant (The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique)
“
Beyond these, illuminated by past summers, one summer remained that stayed the sun long into the night after you had watched the others; others with their fathers knee-deep, belly-button unconcerned, roly-poly mothers stretching out of the sea. Whiter than starch hands on bat and ball, you failed to catch. Tents, buckets, spades; others that went on digging barricades. You castle-bound, spying on princesses, honey-gold, singing against the blue, if touched surely their skin would ooze? Aware of own smell, skin-texture, sun in eyes, lips, toes, the softness underneath, in between, wondering what miracle made you, the sky, the sea. Conscious of sound, gulls hovering, crying, or silent at rarer intervals, their swift turns before being swallowed by the waves. Then no sound, all suddenly would be soundless, treading softly, dividing rocks with fins, and sword-fish fingers plucking away clothes, that were left with your anatomy, huddled like ruffled birds waiting. A chrysalis heart formed on the water’s surface, away from the hard-polished pebbles, sand-blowing and elongated shadows. Away, faster than air itself, dragon-whirled. Be given to, the sliding of water, to forget, be forgotten; premature thoughts—predetermined action. In a moment fixed between one wave and the next, the outline of what might be ahead. On your back, staring into space, becoming part of the sky, a speckled bird’s breast that opened up at the slightest notion on your part. But the hands, remember the hands that pulled your legs, that doubled you up, and dragged you down? Surprised at non-resistance. Voices that called, creating confusion. Cells tighter than shells, you spinning into spirals, quick-silver, thrashing the water, making stars scatter. Narcissus above, staring at a shadow-bat spreading out, finally disappearing into the very centre of the ocean. They were always there waiting by the edge, behind them the cliffs extended. Your head disembodied, bouncing above the separate force of arms and legs, rhythmical, the glorious sensation of weightlessness, moon-controlled, and far below your heart went on exploring, no matter how many years came between, nor how many people were thrust into focus. That had surely been the beginning, the separating of yourself from the world that no longer revolved round you, the awareness of becoming part of, merging into something else, no longer dependent upon anyone, a freedom that found its own reality, half of you the constant guardian, watching your actions, your responses, what you accepted, what you might reject.
”
”
Ann Quin (Berg)
“
Some of the details changed as the decades passed, but it was always on the beach. Somewhere exotic and warm, with waving palm trees before me and the ocean behind me. A soft dress flowing around my bare feet. My toes buried in the sand. And my hands clutching a bouquet of tropical flowers. The vibrant colors reflected back in the setting sun.
”
”
S.J. Tilly (King (Alliance, #2))
“
My numbed feet sank, wet sand slipping out from under my toes and pulling back without me, the ocean loving her shore but never loving me enough to fight for me in return.
”
”
Nicole Fiorina (Bone Island: Book of Danvers (Tales of Weeping Hollow, #2))
“
There is something about the vastness of an ocean that makes me appreciate the omnipotence of God. Seeing as far as the eye can see, yet knowing it doesn’t even scratch the surface of the enormity of God’s power and presence, always causes my heart to reflect. I have read Psalm 139:17–18 countless times. My mind knows that God’s thoughts about me are precious and outnumber the grains of sand. But in that moment, actually standing with my toes in an unfathomable number of grains of sand, a new understanding of His love for me, and the assurance of His plans for me, stirred my heart with awe.
”
”
Mandisa (Out of the Dark: My Journey Through the Shadows to Find God’s Joy)
“
The waves of the Pacific slap the sand between my toes and off in the distance the setting sun coaxes a million diamond-fish to pierce the ocean’s surface, stand on their tails, and shimmy.
”
”
Logan Ryan Smith (Western Palaces)
“
He’s still there.
Kay diligently avoided eye contact—not that she could even make out the stranger’s eyes by moonlight from thirty yards away. She’d assumed she’d have the beach to herself on this brisk Tuesday night in late May. Didn’t everyone else have a life?
The wet sand at the water’s edge was smooth and frigid under her bare toes—her sandals dangled from her fingers. The crisp, salt-scented breeze billowed her calf-length skirt and open cotton blazer, and whipped strands of pale blonde hair across her face. She planted her feet as the next icy wave surged ashore, leaving her toes buried in sand. After two more waves, only the insteps showed.
A flash of silver drew her eye down the beach. Not silver, she saw now, but a white dress shirt being balled up and tossed to the sand. The shirt belonging to the stranger she mustn’t make eye contact with because you never know. He wasn’t looking her way, so she watched him. She watched him pull off his black shoes and socks. She watched him unzip his dark slacks and step out of them. She watched him drop his briefs and kick them away.
Her head snapped forward. That’s why you never make eye contact! Because you never know! Because the most normal-looking man can turn out to be some nut job who thinks nothing of stripping in front of a strange woman and—and—
She sneaked a peek.
And running into the ocean full-tilt.
”
”
Pam McKenna, Binding Agreement
“
I sat with my toes buried in the warm yellow sand staring out towards the back door of The East. Pacific Ocean Blue was playing in the background and it had left me in a state of Bohemia as the waves crashed ashore; roaring as loud as lions.
”
”
David Louden (White Mexicans (& Other Short Stories That All Definitely Happened*))
“
There are times when Los Angeles is the most magical city on Earth. When the Santa Ana winds sweep through and the air is warm and so, so clear. When the jacaranda trees bloom in the most brilliant lilac violet. When the ocean sparkles on a warm February day and you're pushing fine grains of sand through your bare toes while the rest of the country is hunkered down under blankets slurping soup. But other times, like when the jacaranda trees drop their blossoms in an eerie purple rain, Los Angeles feels like only a half-formed dream. Like perhaps the city was founded as a strip mall in the early 1970s and has no real reason to exist. An afterthought from the designer of some other, better city. A playground made only for attractive people to eat expensive salads.
”
”
Steven Rowley (Lily and the Octopus)
“
First crush, first kiss, first time I saw the ocean
And dug my toes in the sand
Baseball and summer nights, casting out when the fish first bite,
First time I got a Chevy in my hands
I thought nothing can touch that by a mile
I thought nothing can make that moment seem so worthwhile
”
”
Scotty McCreery
“
He stroked her jaw with his thumb, tracing the outline of her bottom lip with the pad of it. His black claw arched over her mouth and she didn’t look afraid of him. Perhaps that was why he could murmur, “It is a special word. We save it only for a rare pearl that we find only once in our life. It means a beauty that is more than skin deep. It refers to a soul that radiates inside a person, so much so that you can see it on the outside as well.” “Daios,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “I hate your kind.” He needed her to know that. “I will kill them again. I will fight until there is no breath left in this body and I have lost every limb I can stand to lose. That will never change.” “I know.” “I find your people disgusting. From your ugly toes to the horrid white color that surrounds your eyes. Every bit of your people is revolting, and your bodies are a nightmare to look upon.” Her lips twisted with a soft smile. “So you have said.” He slid his hand into her hair, dragging her close to him again. “But I do not find you ugly.” “Do you not?” “How could I? When your hair is the color of the sun on a cloudless day? When your smile warms the entire ocean around me? When I touch you, your soul is so familiar to me. It is like I have known you in a hundred lifetimes before this, and some part of me that I’ve forgotten wishes to bury itself inside you. It tells me to cling to the curve of your waist, to clutch at the feeling in my chest that lingers when you are near. My soul wishes to keep you and never let you go.
”
”
Emma Hamm (Song of the Abyss (Deep Waters, #2))
“
Is this normal for humans? Toe-sucking?
”
”
Karina Halle (Ocean of Sin and Starlight (Nightwind #2))
“
Well, with every pirouette, we entrust the weight of our bodies on the tips of our toes, with the promise of them delivering us in cyclones. Our arms, always elegant it may appear, struggle beneath the heaviness our muscles battle to stay fluid. It looks effortless--- every allongé, every piqué as simple as the natural flow of water. But every dance, every move our bodies make, is a war against itself. It's magnificently dangerous. Like... blooming into an ocean. That's what it feels like. An ocean. Deep and rich all-encompassing, drowning out everyone in our presence. They sink into the moment, succumb to every movement, and simply just admire.
”
”
Kiana Krystle (Dance of the Starlit Sea)
“
It was not like her to lose her senses. The ability to drift was beaten from her long ago. But Sorasa drifted now, pacing the beach.
She did not hear the shift of sand, or the heavy scuff of boots over the loose stones. There was only the wind.
Until a strand of gold blew across her vision, joined by a warm unyielding palm against her shoulder. Her body jolted as she turned, nose to nose with Domacridhan of Iona. His green eyes glittered, his mouth open as he shouted something again, his voice swallowed up by the droning in her own head.
“Sorasa.”
It came to her slowly, as if through deep water. Her own name, over and over again. She could only stare back into the verdant green, lost in the fields of his eyes. In her chest, her heart stumbled. She expected her body to follow.
Instead, her fist closed and her knuckles met cheekbone.
Dom was good enough to turn his head, letting the blow glance off. Begrudgingly, Sorasa knew he had spared her a broken hand on top of everything else.
“How dare you,” she forced out, trembling.
Whatever concern he wore burned away in an instant.
“How dare I what? Save your life?” he snarled, letting her go
Sorasa swayed without his support. She clenched her own jaw, fighting to maintain her balance lest she fall to pieces entirely.
“Is that another Amhara lesson?” he raged on, throwing up both arms. “When given the choice between death or indignity, choose death?!”
Hissing, Sorasa looked back to the spot where she woke up. Heat crept up her face as she realized her body left a trail through the sand when he dragged her up from the tide line. A blind man would have noticed it. But not Sorasa in her fury and grief.
“Oh,” was all she could manage. Her mouth flapped open, her mind spinning. Only the truth came, and that was far too embarrassing. “I did not see. I—”
Her head throbbed again and she pressed a hand to her temple, wincing away from his stern glare.
“I will feel better if you sit,” Dom said stiffly.
Despite the pain, Sorasa loosed a growl. She wanted to stand just to spite him, but thought better of it. With a huff, she sank, cross-legged on the cool sand.
Dom was quick to follow, almost blurring. It made her head spin again.
“So you saved me from the shipwreck just to abandon me here?” Sorasa muttered as Dom opened his mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. Time is of the essence now. A wounded mortal will only slow you down.”
She expected him to bluster and lie. Instead, his brow furrowed, lines creasing between his still vivid eyes. The light off the ocean suited him.
“Are you? Wounded?” he asked gently, his gaze raking over her. His focus snagged on her temple, and the gash there. “Anywhere else, I mean?”
For the first time since she woke, Sorasa tried to still herself. Her breath slowed as she assessed herself, feeling her own body from toes to scalp. As her awareness traveled, she noted every blooming bruise and cut, every dull ache and shooting pain.
Bruises ribs. A sprained wrist.
Her tongue flicked in her mouth. Scowling, she spit out a broken tooth.
“No, I’m not wounded,” she said aloud.
Dom’s desperate smile broke wide. He went slack against the sand for an instant, falling back on his elbows to tip his face to the sky. His eyes fluttered shut only for a moment.
Sorasa knew his gods were too far. He had said so himself. The gods of Glorian could not hear their children in this realm.
Even so, Sorasa saw it on his face. Dom prayed anyway. In his gratitude or anger, she did not know.
“Good,” he finally said, sitting back up.
”
”
Victoria Aveyard (Fate Breaker (Realm Breaker, #3))
“
after i have drawn back the storm i am as still as the ocean, the cacophony of the world drowned out with my head submerged in the memory of your laughter. the low tide leaves our backbone exposed. i dig my toes into the sand. i am safe here.
”
”
Sofiya Ivanova (Hindsight: a poetry collection)
“
When she swam out far enough to feel as if she was being swallowed up in the vastness of the waves above her head, she felt as if suddenly she was at one with something far greater than she’d ever felt before. Crazy as it sounded, it was as if the sky, the ocean and the unfathomable depths below her all blended into one and she was as intricately linked to this vastness as she was to the tips of her toes or the tiniest molecule of DNA in her body.
”
”
Faith Hogan (The Ladies' Midnight Swimming Club)
“
The sea! The sea! How many years had it been since I’d stepped onto the shoreline, dipped my toes into the water, sunken head-first into the waves? I had dreamt of it often. This exact moment. Walking here, with the soft sensation of sand underfoot and the bright sun overhead, the chirping of seagulls and that endless expanse of coastline. Lost from the world. From time. From all of it.
”
”
Joshua Krook (Black Friday 2050: The powerful psychological thriller set in a terrifying high-tech future)
“
I wanted to get wet and let the tide wash over me without dipping a toe in the ocean. I wanted what was forbidden, and wrong, and fucking crazy. I wanted my partner’s daughter, who was nearly half my age.
”
”
L.J. Shen (Scandalous (Sinners of Saint, #3))
“
What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get out of here?” he asked.
“Put my toes in the water. What about you?”
“Find you … then take you to the ocean.
”
”
Nicole Fiorina (Stay with Me (Stay with Me, #1))
“
Tell me honestly’ he says. ‘Do I look my age?’
Frankly Scobie looks anybody’s age; older than the birth of tragedy, younger than the Athenian death. Spawned in the Ark by a chance meeting and mating of the bear and the ostrich; delivered before term by the sickening grunt of the keel on Ararat. Scobie came forth from the womb in a wheel chair with rubber tyres, dressed in a deer-stalker and a red flannel binder. On his prehensile toes the glossiest pair of elastic-sided boots. In his hand a ravaged family Bible whose fly-leaf bore the words ‘Joshua Samuel Scobie 1870. Honour thy father and thy mother’. To these possessions were added eyes like dead moons, a distinct curvature of the pirate’s spinal column, and a taste for quinqueremes. It was not blood which flowed in Scobie’s veins but green salt water, deep-sea stuff. His walk is the slow rolling grinding trudge of a saint walking on Galilee. His talk is a green-water jargon swept up in five oceans — an antique shop of polite fable bristling with sextants, astrolabes, porpentines and isobars. When he sings, which he so often does, it is in the very accents of the Old Man of the Sea. Like a patron saint he has left little pieces of his flesh all over the world, in Zanzibar, Colombo, Togoland, Wu Fu: the little deciduous morsels which he has been shedding for so long now, old antlers, cuff-links, teeth, hair…. Now the retreating tide has left him high and dry above the speeding currents of time, Joshua the insolvent weather-man, the islander, the anchorite.
”
”
LAWRENCE DURELL (The Alexandria Quartet (The Alexandria Quartet, #1-4))
“
Yeah, Bug. It’s only been a few months since Jules died. And I know you’re doing better, but grief is like the ocean. Sometimes it’s just lapping quietly at your toes and ankles while you walk along, but other times, a huge wave will come out of nowhere and pull you under.
”
”
Lizzy Mason (Remind Me to Hate You Later)
“
It means that we are loved, like all living things that Gaia sustains. There is a poetry in the canopies of forests and in the gentle roll of hills, a song in the wind and a benediction in the kiss of the sun. There are stories in the chuckle of waters in creeks, and epics told in the tides of oceans. There are trees, Granuaile, that seem sometimes like they have grown all their lives just to feel the touch of my hand upon their trunks, they are so welcoming to me. You will feel that welcome in your hands someday. You’ll feel it in your toes as you walk upon the earth. I cannot wait to see that love bloom in your eyes.
”
”
Kevin Hearne (Tricked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #4))
“
Consider earth, our home. Let your eyes savor the brilliant hues and delicate shadings of a summer sunset. Tunnel your toes into wet sand, stand still, and feel the dependable foam and spray of an ocean tide. Visit a butterfly garden and study the abstract designs: 10,000 variations, more imaginative than those of any abstract painter, all compressed into tiny swatches of flying fabric. Belief in a loving Creator is easy among these good things.
”
”
Philip Yancey (Where Is God When It Hurts?)
“
Well?” Corbin sucked in a breath. “You look lovely. I knew that color would suit you.” “It’s not bad,” I said grudgingly. “It is beautiful, as are you. We need only one more thing. Here.” Before I could ask what the one more thing was, he was suddenly kneeling in front of me with a box in his hands. He opened it, revealing black, strappy heels so high I was surprised they fit in the box. The open-toed design made me glad I’d had a pedicure recently. “Are those Jimmy Choos?” I asked, as he took one out and reached for me. “Manolo Blahniks,” he said absently. “Here, let me put them on you.” “Let me sit down first, I’ll fall over,” I objected as he lifted my right foot. “You’ll be fine. Just hold on to me.” I was forced to do just that, holding on to his broad shoulders as he slipped first one shoe on and then the other. They had a simple yet elegant design with a single strap over the toes and another around the ankle. Corbin’s long fingers seemed like they would be too large to buckle the delicate ankle strap but he managed with no problem. “There,” he murmured when he was done. I expected him to get up but instead he remained kneeling at my feet, looking up at me. “Perfect. Addison, you are a goddess.” “Stop it.” I could feel my cheeks getting hot and it occurred to me that I was still holding on to his shoulders although both my feet were planted firmly on the ground. I caught a whiff of his scent—that cool fragrance that reminded me of the ocean somehow. I wanted to step away but I couldn’t. “Why should I stop?” Corbin growled softly. “Why should I not say what I think? When was the last time a man told you how beautiful you are?
”
”
Evangeline Anderson (Crimson Debt (Born to Darkness, #1))
“
Left unsatisfied, the craving for sensations can become an actual hunger. A few years ago on a trip to Kauai, I noticed something funny. Five days in, I hadn’t had a single snack between meals. This was strange because, at home, I’m an inveterate grazer. There’s nearly always a packet of trail mix or a bowl of popcorn on my desk. But on this vacation, not a nibble. I realized that in Hawaii I was surrounded all day by the lush textures of the jungle, the whoosh of the ocean, and the smell of salt water. I had my feet in volcanic sand and a lei of plumeria flowers around my neck. I was satiated, head to toe. Sure enough, by 11:00 a.m. on that first day back in the office, I had my head in the snack cabinet, hunting for almonds. People are quick to blame habits, and to dismiss this as mindless eating, but I believe that ignores the root cause. In our humdrum environments, we live with a sensorial hunger, and without any other means to satisfy it, we feed it.
”
”
Ingrid Fetell Lee (Joyful: The Surprising Power of Ordinary Things to Create Extraordinary Happiness)
“
The sea dragons. Far below, the dragons danced on the surface of the ocean, tiny, glimmering worms on a gray floor. Their voices rang through the air, across the great distance and over the roar of Fingap Falls. The dragon song mingled with Leeli’s, and the music pulsed with joy and then sadness. Janner blinked with wonder when he focused again on the images swirling before him. He no longer saw Nugget but a spray of giant waves, then something red and gold—the dragons. He had only ever seen the creatures from the heights of the cliff, but now he could see them as if he floated just above the surface of the sea, a stone’s throw away. They were as beautiful as they were fearsome. Their bodies shimmered with metallic scales that swirled with color. The dragon closest to him glittered orange and gold, like the strikes of a thousand matchsticks, but its winglike fins cycled between shades of blue. Its head was sleek and graceful, perfect for slicing through the water, and its eyes—big and deep and serene—sent a chill down to Janner’s toes, because it was suddenly clear the dragon knew it was being watched. The eyes rolled back, and translucent lids slid over them as the dragon opened its mouth and sang. Teeth lined its mouth, but not in the crooked, yellow way of the Fangs or the toothy cows; these were straight and bright and sharp as needles. Janner pushed his mind through the image and looked again at his brother and sister. Leeli’s eyes were closed, and though she smiled, tears wet her cheeks while she played. Wind stirred Tink’s hair, and he stared at the empty air before him; his eyes flicked back and forth as if studying a drawing that hung a few feet before his face. The song changed to a gentle hum, and Janner turned his mind again to the floating image. A dragon rose from the waves bearing something
”
”
Andrew Peterson (North! or Be Eaten)
“
You know as you stare out across a desert or dip your toes in an ocean that this is the last time for this specific experience, at least for a long time, and that you need to soak it up and treasure it and remember everything about it for later. So you pause and make sure to properly take it in.” Then she sits down again, fixing her gaze firmly on Anna, and smiles, breathing heavily. “But in real life you go around thinking that everything good is going to last forever, and it takes you by surprise when it doesn’t. And when you suddenly realize that it has happened for the last time, it’s too late.
”
”
Suzy Krause (Valencia and Valentine)
“
Inside he can barely stand still from the ants crawling up his toes, ankles and shins. But stand still he must. He had arrived here intoxicated with the idea of bringing down a great city at midnight. It had been his father’s dream to ransack Nagapattinam, the jewel of the Indian Ocean. The promise of it had loomed out of the sea, like one of those tottering cakes made of flour and sugar served in his village at weddings.
”
”
Devi Yesodharan (Empire)