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The North Pacific
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The North Pacific |
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amusemi Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262A State of Disarray |
It is a cold and rainy day in the Northern Pacific as I wander along icy oceanfront. In the distance fog horns compete with the cry of gulls for my wayward attention. Without any sense of purpose, I walk along the edge of the sand dunes, keeping the sounds of the surf as it sighs against the shore a safe, dry distance away. There is very little visibility ahead. The fog has become a billowing, misty sheath that twirls and expands all about me. I am lost in the day, but pleasantly so. The water so close, yet illusively intangible merges with my emotions. It is as if it feels my pains and revels in my joys, it is an entity very much like me. I remember an old thought: Raindrops are ancient. In centuries past they have been themselves before. In but a few steps I could cocoon myself in water that at one time have been humanities tears, blood, but are now recycled in a great pool to caress the earth soothing it. As the fog flows about my body I feel secure in the isolaltion. There is a strength in being alone sometimes. This was not always so for me. So much has changed in me over the years. I used to walk this same stretch of beach when I was a girl who knew everything. I believed in the basic goodness of man and felt the power of which I am. A loud power of seductive action. I feel a different power now: it is quiet and simple. I am one in a field of a million souls, rocking and swaying, a creature of the same wind, the same tide as every other soul, only different if someone looks very closely. I harbor my secrets in hidden places, not on the sleeve of my blouse. I think in metaphors, not the saying of the day. And I know that happiness is not the destinantion I am seeking, but rather the journey to get there. In my travels I have collected. Collected memories, emotions, pictures and yet the collection revolves and churns within me, making pearls out of things I might have chosen to discard and nightmares out of my treasures. As I slowly step on the packed, damp sand and crushed shells I reach a large driftwood log, probably a piece of harvested lumber from the rainforest that didn't make it on board of one of the huge foreign ships that cart logs off to China or Japan. It, too, has escaped the hands of man to make it's own way back to the safe haven of this shore. I join the log in it's silent reverie, by straddling the width of it and sitting down. I can feel the damp residue creep inside the backside of my jeans and I push my hands deeper into my pockets, too stubborn to stop the saturation. How else would I know what it felt like? [This message has been edited by amusemi (02-02-2002 12:38 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2002 kat fer - All Rights Reserved | |||
Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
amusemi, The joys of growing older. Makes me long for home. (I'm from the northwest as well) I liked this whole piece and understand personally those sentiments.  |
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amusemi Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262A State of Disarray |
Thank you Larry. I will always think of it as home, although I may never permanently return. |
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ShadowRider Senior Member
since 2001-07-14
Posts 1038USA |
Not all of our memories, or triggers of things-that-have-been are pleasant, but who ever said they would be? Its the mix of all of them that makes living the total experience. I like your driftwood analogies and the contemplation of the sources of the unknown. Nice job, Amusemi. I was moooore than amused by this. Second helpings are in order. *smile* tSR |
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amusemi Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262A State of Disarray |
Thank you ShadowRider for reading and commenting. I find it interesting that you are amused...!!! |
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