I slept a full eight hours and woke up to the clanking of boats and the scrabble of seagull feet on the roof, familiar and soothing sounds. I'm propped up on my made bed, the sun blazing through the window and warming my feet, the window blowing through the ash outside the bedroom, making grey and white shadows on the wooden siding. Outside, the see is the perfect marine blue as far as the eye can see. We're nestled inside the skerry guard of smooth, grey rocks, on a coastline dotted with brick red and ochre yellow and white wooden houses, interspersed among the pine trees.
I've been reading about how our neurology is affected by every interaction we have. Neurologist Tom Oliver:
Neuroscience shows our neural networks are hugely dynamic: always changing to the physical and social context we are surrounded by. Every time we speak to someone, every word and touch we receive is changing the neural networks in our brains.
And so I believe that being here, surrounded by the sea, the birds, the familiar stuff that seems to sit deep in my dna, has to be therapeutic.
(Actually, the piece I've linked to is about interconnectivity and how working as a whole is the only way to get us through this pandemic.)
The picnic is packed; bread and cheese and eggs and tomatoes and cod's roe Kaviar, and we are off on a boat, captained by my seagoing cousin, to Mink Island, across the sea, into the waves, to watch the world go by from a different perspective. To swim and dive in the saltwater, the cure for everything.