Sometimes I forget that sound in winter. We don’t think
to go to the beach in December. But tonight I’m glad we did. The old roving
light illuminated the rocks in its steady sequence from somewhere behind us. We
could just make out the white of the breaking water on the sand, and from there
out all was dark and the sea and thy sky seemed one dark mystery save for a few
stars overhead. Where are the boundaries between heaven and earth anyway?
There are nights when the veil is thin. Holy nights
kissed by the salty air. Hushed nights when we turn our revving, striving,
sputtering engines off and look out to sea.
We sat eclipsed for just a few minutes, silence peppered
with the questions and exclamations of small children out past bedtime.
Transcendence can creep up on you when you least expect it. Before we rolled the
windows up, the kids called a goodbye to the ocean. “See you in the summer,”
they said, and Arden blew a kiss into the night – “I love you.”
~lg
