a glimpse of the sea.

a glimpse of the sea

seems to awaken my soul
as winter dissolves

a week of blue sky sunny days. light that seems neverending. snow still very present. but the hope of spring in the air. roads closed all winter cleared bit by bit. allowing a new freedom of exploration. on a friday afternoon. we load up the big white bus. and the old gray aerostar van. with fig newtons. and coffee. and tea. and elders. the plan is to drive as far as the road allows. and see what we see. i get to drive the old gray aerostar. which is pretty rockin.

down the east coast. speckled mountains to the left. thawing sea to the right. and as we sojourn on. with the eccletic local radio in the background. occassionally interrupted by observataions and memories. what was a thin line of blue on the horizon closer to town. grows in its scope. gracing our eyes. with more and more blue. and the white still seems to cover most of the sea. but there is evidence of melting. and hope of more to come.

and my heart danced a little. to see the sea. as if it had forgotten. as if it had doubted that the sea really exists. blanketed by depths of ice. since our hello.

and my soul retreated back. to moments of joy. surronded by the sea. twirling in its calm waters. feeling safe. at peace. a part of something bigger than i could comprehend. yet allowed to move amidst it. allowed to float. and be. and dance. and how it all connected me. to that which is holy. to that which is inconcieveably greater. to that which is intimately close.

and i don't know what potential to twirl in the sea there is in these parts. but simply the image. of distant and growing blue waters stirred a sense of hope. that this long awaited summer is on its way. that there is new beauty to discover. beauty my eyes have yet to see. yet eagerly anticipate.

and its still an inbetween time. the season uncertain of its own identity. this gradual transformation taking place. slowly. bit by bit. before our eyes. if our eyes remain open.

and we turn around just after mile fourteen. the snow too slushy for the big white van to handle. and we park at a lookout. and share out the fig newtons and coffee and tea. and soak in the view. and listen to water running down the hill. and look forward to days. when we can drive even further. to see what there is to see. and we celebrate this beauty. with hope that more beauty awaits. just around the corner.