1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
Below me, the water is murky and grey, the depths unknown. I stand on the cliff top, looking down at the waves peaking and rising, pieces of seaweed and shadowy creatures below the surface, inviting nightmares and dark imaginings.
“All you have to do is jump, Claire….”
I grew up by the sea for a good portion of my life; and in the country, the outdoors for most of it; and I find such peace and oneness there. Some of my greatest joys and deepest sorrows have been the moments that I’ve spent away from everyone else, just exploring and spending time with the wind, the waves, the trees.
Despite my London address, I’m a bumpkin at heart.
When ever I think of diving, the first thing that jumps into my head is a day at the beach up in Moray. The Moray Firth and its coastline is one of the most beautiful places on earth, full of gems of beaches and stunning vistas. And as a teenager it was my playground. In summer and spring, my friends and I would pack up a rucksack and cycle out to Findhorn, Hopeman, Burghead or Roseisle and just spend the day together. One day we decided to explore the cliffs and crannies at Roseisle, and I remember clearly the 8 to 10 foot leap we had to do back into the sea when we realised that we’d walked out quite far and swimming back was much easier than traversing the rocks again on foot.
Ah, teenage laziness.
And I remember, as clearly as if it were yesterday, that feeling of looking down at the water and the not knowing. The unknown. The shadows and waves below, a mystery beneath the sun spackled surface of the water. All you could do was trust. So I did.
Deep breath, knees bent, and leap. A moment of air, of flight, of up, and then the splash, into cold salty water and the embrace of the sea. The pause as you adjust, and a blink later the kick and tug of stroke as I headed back to the shore.
The dive, the leap, the jump.
May we always stay brave.