Complex Numbers

Waterfront

Take us on a sensory journey to a place that is significant to you. Try to describe the place using all of your senses so we can be there with you!

You can see the house from the train as it crosses over the wide water.

Can't blame you if you missed it, though. What catches the eye is the water itself, a bay stretching out to the horizon. And the docks of the marina next door - in the wind, the sailboats' masts and rigging ring with the sway of air and water. Perched as it is on a small bluff overlooking the estuary, the house itself is protected from the waves the wind stirs up, but not the sight of the boats, or the sounds. Sometimes, a train rumbles across the nearby bridge, and you wonder if anyone's looking.

At night, in the summer, it's the humidity that gets you. The humidity, and the bugs. You're wearing pungent, antiseptic bug spray, but still you have to slap at the occasional flying critter, lest it bite or sting. The slaps sting too, only not as acutely.

In daytime, you can escape the heat by diving into the water. Well, not literally diving; the bottom slopes gently from the shore to the navigation channel, smooth rocks tickling your feet. Behind the house stretches a garden and a field. Sometimes, you have to thin out the carrots. Bring a hose with you so you can rinse off the roots and sink your teeth into their crunch and savor their sweet taste, a flavor that prepackaged "baby carrots" can't even touch. And don't get me started on what passes for sweet corn in the stores; here, you can eat it raw, right off the stalk, before the sugars have a chance to degrade into starch.

The damp ground produces a musty odor that speaks of dying and growing things. And of home.

Because this is home, at least for the younger version of me. Sometimes, I miss it. Most of the time, though, I remember how much work a farm is, and I'll settle for store-bought corn.