Yesterday when my bare feet sunk into the sand, then the cool waters of Lake Michigan, tears rose as my heart and body remembered life on the Mediterranean. I love the word “tenderness”, and how it means kindness, gentleness, deep affection; and also sensitivity to pain, soreness; and succulence, too–the quality of being easy to cut and chew. I have become more tender through the pounding of writing and living. It may be the writing that did it, more than the living. My heart is a tender home. Water, too, is a kind of home, and my heart finds solace and inspiration walking, swimming, and bathing in it; looking at it and listening to it; drinking it. We, too, are bodies of water. Writing and reading are ways of swimming in the waters of our life and others’; or if you prefer, a way to stand on the shore, looking out, and in.