The Power of Water

There is something healing about living near water. Not just healing but water can stoke my emotions and my senses.

In New England, Boston Harbor might not have the same emotional tie as waves breaking over a sandy beach strewn with sea grass, but there was always the feeling I could get to the sea quickly.

Decades ago when I lived in a winter rental a few steps from the Hampton NH beach, I could hear the waves at night. After one storm, the waves threw rocks against the 20-foot seawall above strumming every primitive urge in my body.

In Argelès, the Mediterranean is about 20 minutes away on foot. The moods of the water are sometimes calmer than the Atlantic, but the colours and the waves still vary, like an unfaithful lover who wants to play games with my emotions.

When I lived in Môtiers, behind the village was a waterfall and a stream where on hot summer afternoons the dogs, Amadeus and Albert and I would take a picnic settling on the bank. Ama loved being in the water. Albert loved watching him. The cows in the field behind our spot watched us. As the summer went on the stream would dry up. When the rains replenished the stream the trickle would become a torrent.

With all my time in Geneva, it is only the last three years I have lived in walking distance of the lake, although on forays downtown, or even visiting friends who lived up the mountain, the lake and the jet d’eau were visible enough that I could appreciate the blues and greens, the stillness or roughness, depending on the bise. I have seen the ducks and swans being tossed like a ship in the North Atlantic during a Nor’easter, or so calm that I could imagine walking across the surface.

Now I live seconds from the lake, minutes if I amble. Coming back after my Argelès holiday and walking down the hill, I love the view of the petite stone wall path that leads to the lake peeking through the trees.

Because I tug a suitcase and shlep a laptop I do not go directly to the lake to report that I am back but turn to the left in this photo (if you click on the photo the white square shows up and that is the entrance to the house) at the bend in the tow.

The water will be there for the time I want to take a writing break, to feel the sun reflected on my face, to smell its freshness. Sometimes in winter the angry lake has thrown itself onto benches and trees freezing creating crystal palaces. So many moods to feed my moods, but always, always, to make them better.