The Last Look at the Sea

There is always a moment when a holiday ends.

Not when you get home.

Not when you unpack.

Not even when you lock the caravan door for the final time.

It happens earlier than that.

A quiet moment when you realise there are no more tomorrows left.

No more mornings to wake up there.
No more plans to make.
No more chances to say, “We’ll do that later.”

Our final morning arrived far too quickly.

The bags were packed.
The beds were stripped.
The cupboards checked for forgotten chargers and abandoned snacks.

Everything was ready.

Except me.

I wasn’t ready.

A week earlier I had stood at home terrified of leaving.

Now I found myself wishing for one more day.

One more walk.
One more bus ride.
One more chance to stand beside the sea.

Before we left, I took one final look.

The sea was calm.
The cliffs stood quietly in the distance.
The weather, rather unfairly, had decided to behave itself now that we were leaving.

I stood there for a moment and tried to memorise everything.

The colour of the water.
The smell of the air.
The sound of distant gulls.
The feeling of being somewhere that had become familiar.

I knew I wouldn’t remember every detail.

Memory never works like that.

But I wanted to hold onto the feeling.

The feeling of having made it.
Of having travelled further than my fear expected me to.
Of having spent a week creating memories instead of avoiding them.

The sea hadn’t changed.

I had.

A week earlier I had been afraid to leave home.

Now I was standing beside the sea wishing I didn’t have to go back.

That surprised me more than anything.

Eventually, of course, we had to leave.

The bags went into the taxi.
The caravan disappeared behind us.
The coastline became smaller in the distance.

But before all of that happened, there was one final look.

One quiet moment between staying and leaving.

And I think I will remember it for a very long time.

— Frost ❄️