SeaHeart

We are at the cabin on the lakeshore with Pete and Katie and Gareth, on our writing retreat. Being so close to the water, even if it isn't salt, is so soothing to me. I spent a large portion of today, in between blissful bouts of writing, at the water's edge, walking on the rocks, watching the waves roll in.

A storm has descended along with the dark. The wind roars around the little cabin, the trees move to and fro, and it is magic. A little while ago, even though it was pitch black outside, I had to take a walk, to taste the rain, to watch the whitecaps roll. It was one of the most bewitching things I have ever been witness to, and I was humbled, spelled and in awe of it.

So far out, the waves began, tossing and shaking and jubilant, roaring, roaring. They crashed closer and closer until they hit the rocks beneath the escarpment, and then again and again and again, relentless. The wind roared about me, the clouds raced, and the entire earth seemed to be speaking, not words, but a sparking jubilation.

I took a walk along the little dirt road beside the escarpment, digging my hands into my pockets. The trees roared here louder than the water, a gigantic sigh. The power of the wind, of the water, the branches flying...it made me feel so small, and yet so vibrant. Here I was, walking along these paths, wrapped in my own thoughts and stories, and the tempest raged about me, exultant and powerful and primal. The waves and rain merged together, and the magic spun and grew.

Somewhere, the stars swing, quiet and bright. But tonight, the earth is alive in revelry, and all beings and elements raise their voices in celebration of a new year born.