�Wicazo Sa writings 1998

Remembrance

I rise from my sleep, and peer out into the soft grey velvet of early morning breaking.
As I slide on my robe, and tiptoe out the sliding lanai doors into the misty cool air, my feet feel the grass damp and alive with every step.
With just the sound of a soft breeze that whispers through the palm, and the soft jingle of the bells embracing my ankle, I slowly make my way across the lawn, toward the sounds of the ocean morning.
The light fog that covers the drive, bringing the damp gritty scent of the pavement to my nose does not slow me, for I can hear her calling, her soft rustling, and gentle waves breaking, they sing my name.
As my toes reach the sand, I smile, and walking along it, the water licking at my feet, wrapping my skin in it's warm embrace, my heart knows the peace I gain there..
I sit upon the warm damp sand, and let the ocean wash me clean in the light before the day.
Watching as the greys turn to light violet with sparks of pink and peach, as the sun rises to greet me, and peeks above the horizon as if asking me if it may join my haven.
With the caress of the breeze on my face, and the tickle of water on my skin, my ears filled with the rush and tumble of the waves as they greet the land, I watch the sun get bolder, rising higher, claiming the hour of its determined arrival and bringing the new day.
The calls of the birds begins to rise, singing their morning song, the crickets fade, the frogs slip back to hiding.
The sky is filled with bright orange blazes, and the violets turn to blues, lighter and lighter as the sun climbs fully over the horizon.
Now a blazing ball of light, clouds whisper away as if it has willed them gone, the sun awakens the earth, drying the damp, and warming the air, bringing her sounds from their whispers to singing.
Lying back on the sand, letting the waves wash over me, more and more as the tide comes to land, feeling the gentle touch in it's loving arms.
Then, so as not to break her spell, I slowly rise from my place on the sand.
I bow my head in my thanks for the treasure of waking here, and turn towards the house.
Retracing my steps over the drive, and across the grass, I slip as quietly through the sliding doors as I had left.

In the year I have been gone, I have never one morning, forgotten you, my home with the sea.

�Wicazo Sa writings 1998

�Wicazo Sa writings 1998