I recently spent a number of days on the outer banks with a group of nonconformist friends in a huge house four miles beyond any paved road. The only way in was by 4x4 up the beach. Those days were spent laughing and discussing. Sharing and discovering. Enriching and nurturing. I love unique souls. So full of color and light.
A storm front cut our trip short and we had to leave the island early in order to avoid the high tide and a storm surge that would make leaving difficult. Upon leaving I found myself and my gear in the back of a pickup, facing backwards, headed south along surf's edge. Wild horses grazed freely among the dunes, the stumps 0f an ancient maritime forest appeared and disappeared in the distance behind me as we sped along. Red flags popped in the gale and sea foam emerged from the surf, rolling in the wind like bubbly brown liquid tumbleweeds.
Lost in the flutter and the straw scratch sound of my hair about my ears I began to recall. Echoed laughter and the sights and sounds of it all, of them all, was still searing deeply the palette of my mind. Looking to my right, I gazed past the raging Atlantic and realized the perpetual frontier of the lives I've lived and felt grateful. The kind of grateful that makes your lower eyelids raise as tears slightly well along the delicate lashes. The purple scent of joy saturated the sea breeze. It feels good to be on the surface of this magnificent world.
Wonders abound. Now home, writing this, my dog's head is resting heavily on my thigh as he gratefully snores my safe return. A cold, windy September rain pours outside. I look at him. His twitching pink muzzle always aware.
We two, he and I, mere carbon based life forms. Each an accumulation of cells acting in unison. But there is this wonderful connection between he and I. Between them and us. Between you and I. It can't be seen, though it can be felt and reflected.
And so I catch myself gazing once again, pondering us all and feel my lower lids begin to raise.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
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Very visual, as well as visceral. Time to start posting more stories... it's June 2012. Time's a wastin'...
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