Serenity Point

The blowing November breeze was chilling, but not so much so that it deterred him. He needed a little serenity, figuratively and literally. Serenity Point was his happy place. Nestled snuggly in a small harbor on the south shore of Lake Ontario, Serenity Point was where he would go to collect his thoughts, or not think at all. Though public, the pier was seldom populated. This day was no different.

The pier itself was concrete, lined on both sides by large boulders designed to repel the rough waters when the Canadian wind sought fit to batter the coastline with its fury. About three-quarters of the way out to the small lighthouse at the pier’s end there was a large, flat rock that jutted out just a little bit farther than the others. That was his spot. Climbing over the sagging and aged railing, he dropped himself down onto his place of contemplation and reclined back on the cold rocks.

The sunset would be coming soon. At this time of year the golden solar hues would disappear behind the small peninsula of trees that broke the otherwise lengthy beach line. In the summer the display played out spectacularly over the water. In some ways he preferred it this way. It was more picturesque and allowed him the opportunity to absorb the swirling colors of the sky without burning his retinas.

He had a lot on his mind these days, but when he closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet sea air, it was all erased. When he opened them again his eyes adjusted to the dimming daylight, and he smiled. It was quiet. The only sound he could hear was the occasional cry of a seagull or two, and the splashing as a pair of mallards gracefully touched down on the water from their late autumn flight. Far off in the distance, barely marring the horizon, he could see a tanker ship steaming its way towards the east, undoubtedly headed for the St. Lawrence and ports beyond. It didn’t keep his attention long. He had more important things to see.

Turning his attention back towards the west, he was able to see the sky turn to shades of amber and crimson. The breeze had picked up slightly and the lake’s reach began to lap at the rocks below him. There was something rhythmic and soothing about the sound, and it nearly lulled him to sleep. In the few moments he kept his eyes closed he reveled in the sensation of the cool, misty air caressing his face. There was no world around him. There was no job, no phone, no stress. There was only the water, the wind and the waning sun.

In the time he sat there, several groups of people had come and gone: he never noticed them. Everyone had their reasons for visiting Serenity Point, and people by and large respected each other’s privacy. Over the years he had witnessed proposals, arguments, laughter and tears, silently. There was a little bit of something for everyone there. For him, there was release from the shadows and echoes that lurked in his mind. All was washed away with the tide or faded into oblivion with the setting sun.

By the time he shook himself out of his trance, he was alone. The light of day had vanished, leaving behind only the twilight of dusk. He had no idea how long he had sat there that day, though a quick glance at his watch would easily tell him if he really wanted to know. He didn’t. Time had no meaning for him there. If anything, his purpose there was to escape time, and to rid himself of that which bothered him. Most times he left there with an overwhelming sense of calm. Sometimes that just wasn’t possible, so burdensome was the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was no Atlas. He didn’t need to be, either, a notion that often escaped him.

With the darkening of the sky came the familiar November bite in the air, reminding him that winter’s approach was at hand. With a deep sigh, he lifted himself up off the rocks and began the short walk along the pier towards the shore. He didn’t want to leave, but the increasing winds convinced him otherwise. There would be other days, and other sunsets.

As he walked away he noticed a small, flat stone. Like a child, he grinned, picked it up, and flicked it across the water. It skipped twice and disappeared beneath the lake’s surface, the resulting ripples gliding outward until they too vanished, before the rolling waters bid him adieu. 

The respite he found at Serenity Point was brief, but it served its purpose nonetheless. He had managed to immerse himself in something other than himself, briefly forgetting all that troubled him. Though his trouble would remain, waiting, the soothing waters seemed to soften trouble’s edge, just slightly. It was enough, for now. When he needed something more, something greater, he would revisit the pier. Until then, though, the images he saw, and sensations he felt on that late November day, would rest comfortably at the forefront of his mind. He needed only to close his eyes to return to Serenity Point.     


© J.J. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.