Bay of Fundy - Fiona P

When I was young at the bay, we would watch the tides rise and fall, the tall waters chewing, digging, grinding away at the stone, cutting through the rock to form a new pillar. The pillars stood alone, visible through the waves tall, proud, bold, throughout the days. Then the tide would retreat after six hours, and we could see the roots of the Flower Pots. Gentle souls throughout the ages, sheer rock face with impressive height. This force of nature is not without might.

When I was young at the bay, I remember hearing the waves lapping against the sandy beach, diving into the waters, cool, crisp, and smooth. The sudden taste of salt against my lips as my arms sliced through the waves propelled my body forward. As I swam back to the sand, I already couldn’t wait to go again. Our laughs rang through the air, joining the seagulls’ cry, an ocean's lullaby, as we built a castle out of sand, majestic, tall, grand.

When I was young at the bay, full of joy and curiosity, we explored beaches and trails, trees and cliffs, climbed the barnacle speckled rocks, climbed to great heights, wandered the seashore into the night, finding sand dollar shells. I always remember the bliss of discovery at the bay.

At the bay, I loved going on hikes and building castles of sand. We would skip rocks all day, swim in the sea, and wander the nearby forests. We would find ourselves out in the summer sun, under the nighttime stars, driving along the bay in our car. Together with my family, we frolicked and had fun, underneath that sun.

Bay of Fundy
Fiona P