Edges of the World

I stand at the edge of the state. At the edge of the continent. My work is done, the conference is over, and here I stand. Shiny shoes, suit jacket, and all.

The wind whips a mist of sand at me, steady and ceaseless. It's a struggle to keep my hat on as I run through sandy dunes, one I fail at a few times. I will be cleaning sand out of my ears and hair for days on end, but keep rushing towards the water. I had to come to the ocean. I always do. It's the insatiable urge to see something so much larger than myself, the ensuing avalanche of thought that leaves me reminded of how incomprehensibly large the universe is.

About two weeks ago, it was the Atlantic shore. Perhaps it's poetic that I stand in front of the Pacific so soon after, but the verse will have to wait. For now, I just look into the horizon that threatens to go forever. I savor the moment where I see my first sand dollar, actual sand dollar on an actual beach. I marvel at the sky that would be hard-pressed to be more perfect.

A plane cuts across it, filled with travellers. I'm reminded that I, myself, will be in the air soon. Heading home to the man (and the cat) that miss me. That I miss, too.

I'll see the oceans again.



Delayed post from April