Okay, I’m a word nerd. I love playing with words, examining multiple meanings, putting nouns, verbs, and adjectives into paragraphs, stories, articles, and even an occasional poem. But some words run deeper than I give them credit for. “Cove” is one of those.
What is a cove? That’s a question I never contemplated during my growing-up years by the Pacific Ocean. The La Jolla Cove was simply where I went to swim, away from the breakers, a place I could go snorkeling for a peek at an underwater realm. I supposed other coves existed elsewhere, but assumed all would be maritime in nature. I didn’t really think about it at all . . . until six decades later, when I moved into a North Carolina mountain neighborhood called Quail Cove.
The Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains are chock full of “no outlet” lanes that go by the “cove” monicker. When I first moved east, that terminology confused me because most of the coves here lie nowhere near any bodies of water. I asked a few locals about it, and they looked at me as if I’d just stepped off a space ship. “It’s always been that way,” they said.
I continued to stew about it, but found no clarification until this morning, on my daily walk, when it finally hit me:
Cove
Nestled, protected
seaside inlet, forest lane:
refuge from the world
So yes, I’m a slow nerd. But I am happy to report that my little cove brings me peace.
Photo by S. G. Benson
#haiku #cove #peace #quiet
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