What is attractive about the 84 Street park is that it is neglected and boasts a wild vegetation that has been for years at the mercy of the rain and the sea winds. The park is not only endowed with plants but also with mysterious lilac flowers that creep through the sand and open every morning. To the east the park borders a beach which during the week is deserted and where nothing obstructs the view of the sea. There the sea seems more intensely blue, although in some parts it looks turquoise. In sunny days it melts with the sky.
I got in the car with Max; the dog on its cushion on the right and I behind the wheel as always. It would be great if Max knew how to drive, I thought more than once, so that I could distract myself looking out the window of the car like when I was a girl. We arrived at the deserted park since that Saturday we had woken up early and there was no one. After locking the car, we headed towards the entrance and began to walk the paths that we so often traveled together. That day the sea was somber; the clouds of water had turned it dark.
I do not know if it was the drizzle or the deserted beach that prompted me to reflect on what had happened in recent weeks. Although loneliness is a good companion when you want to rearrange your thoughts, the sea is even better. Perhaps because it is constantly moving and feels alive. Or perhaps because so many times we were told that human beings are like the waves of the sea, separated but united.
As I was pondering on these thoughts, it began to rain hard. With no tree to protect us from being wet, I decided to take refuge in the lifeguard's cabin. It was a small but cozy cottage. Inside there was only a table, a chair, several ropes and a dozen life jackets. Through the window overlooking the sea I could see the waves hoarding the sand on the beach. Maybe in the future they would end up hogging it completely, I thought; but, for now, I felt safe and secure in that transitory abode I had made mine.
It is true that the last days had been difficult. That is how some of the relationships in our lives end. Actually, it is not a real ending, I said to myself; all that shares our life is always in transit. That is, it comes and goes. Like the waves, they approach us and then move away with the sea currents. Then new waves are born which, with their intact foam, caress us or listen to us cry. And so our friends also leave us because their road is another road, different from ours. Those who stay till the end are our road companions, but they are few and far between. The rest we have to bless and let them go; what they came to teach us we have already learned. No more.
The rain subsided slowly and the clouds began to disperse its blackness to let the sea wrap itself in turquoise. Once again the desert of fresh water had been my master with its quiet closeness. But it was time to go home to start the new cycle. Who knows what souls will come to me to travel this part of the way together. Who knows what messages they will bring me that I need to know. It does not matter. Whoever they are I will be here waiting