On the Coast

It was on the coast.  

That’s where they met.  

It was that place, where the sugar white sand met the turquoise of the warm, silky ocean.  That is where it all began.  

She, marking time for the summer.  He, parlaying his wares to those who sought solace, or fun, in the sea.  She spied what he sold, and it was definitely different from what she had ever tried before . . .  but this was her time.  Her time to challenge.  Her time to challenge herself.  To do something unlike anything she’d ever, attempted before.  

She saw him.  

Was drawn to where he stood.  In front of where he plied his trade.  Where there were colorful, pretty, stringy things . . . along with the ugly, stinky, squirmy things. Hooks, poles, foreign things.  She concentrated on the the colorful, pretty, stringy things. If only to still her heart at the sight of him.  

She was drawn to his eyes, and maybe his forearms . . .  His eyes.  The shape.  The color.  They were a shade of green, not made to compete with the green of the sea, but instead mirroring the green of the mountain stream.  The green of the forest. They felt cool and refreshing in spite of the humid, balmy air of the tropics.  As his eyes stayed on her . . . the feeling remained with her.  He appeared to be more than willing to assist her with her purchases. Laughing along with her, at her naivete regarding her new found sport.  Even as he completed her transaction, she knew she would be back for more of the colorful, pretty, stringy things.  Even, if she had to lose everything she’d bought, every day, in order to have an excuse to come back.  And look at those eyes.

She thanked him for the gracious advice he gave, and slowly danced her way to the surf. Surreptitiously glancing back every few steps, shyly, yet boldly, in that quiet, yet confident way of hers. Most definitely, in no hurry. As she cast about in the waves which found their way to the shore, lapping at the sands, she knew.  Even though it might defy convention, she knew she had experienced something in those moments that was to stay with her, forever.  It was already changing her.  This time of renewal, this time of rebirth long after her life was first given, was the right time.  It was time for THIS afternoon to happen. Time for this new life.

As the day, died in the west, she gathered her new toys, and trailed down the remote beach to her cottage, her long awaited-for but temporary home.  The solitude whispered a new, welcome song in her ear.  

This was right.  

This was good. 

This was full of promise.  

Something was astir in the warm, humid air, and the breeze coming in off the ocean knew it.  Delivering radiant hope, healing to her heart.

And yet . . . something unsettled, as the mysterious elements which assemble into the makings of a hurricane, was fashioning itself into something mysterious within him.

And while she might know about the minds of many, but could not know the thoughts of one.  But hoped she might have the chance to one day . . . know.

On the coast.

The days went by.  Slowly, like lustrous pearls being slid onto a waxed string.  Sliding, next to one other, growing into a lengthy, precious creation.  Luxurious gems, reflecting newfound light.  Brightening the lives . . . of two.  

Each day, something “accidentally lost”.  Each day, a new purchase made.  Each day, a smile given.  Settling into a sensuous rhythm known and loved by only them.  

Even after he closed up the small but special shop, she would continue battling the surf for that one beautiful fish, that someday she was sure to catch, given the wealth of gear she’d amassed in order to land that fish.  ;-) After a time, he began to join her in the evening surf to watch.  To study.  To listen to her.  To encourage.  And to simply enjoy her.  And she, him . . . very much. The fish meant nothing. While he, meant everything. 

One sunset kissed evening, with ribbons of colors drifting and dancing in the sky above the water and caressing the sand, after what seemed like an eternity, yet was only a moment, there was a pull on the line.  At her excited shriek, he joined her, coaching her on how to reel in the fish.  It was indeed a fight, one filled with splashing and laughter, but was a fight the fish lost.  For he and she, all was gain. 

The silver fish glittered in the evening sun, but all she could see, was the joy . . . in his eyes . . . as he watched her land her first catch.  With all of that gear. The smile on his face, reaching deep down into her heart.  It was all she saw, it was all she felt. Nothing else mattered, there was nothing else TO matter. 

And while she might know about the minds of many, she could not know the thoughts of one.  But hoped she might have the chance, to one day . . . know.

On the coast.

Time passed.  Days, like the proverbial sands, filled the glass.  Time brought them together in ways nothing else could.  It was beautiful, ethereal, defying adequate expression using mere language.  Full of promise.  Full of love.  Full of hope.  Full of the future.  Full of each other.

Evenings brought interludes of love on the solitary beach, bare, sun-kissed bodies wrapped in love, caressed by the warmth of the sun and silkiness of the ocean.  Words of love spoken in awe of what passed between them.  The intensity of their love matched only by the pounding of a world of powerful oceans colliding with the sand of the beach.  Kisses given in utter abandonment, and a coming together in a union more blessed than the world by dawn.

It was the start of a life.

And then . . . the shadows.  Out of a place called nowhere.

Shadows.  She noticed shadows.  A shadow there, but not quite.  Imagined?  Real?  A slight darkening of the sun, instilling a fear into the brightness of the day. Brief, but there.

The shadows passing back and forth in his eyes.  Sometimes alighting there, shifting and moving on. Then . . . settling there.  A veiling.  Almost as if there was this . . . haze.  A haze, blocking out the sunshine but it was so very slight, you were never quite sure it was there or not.

Yet.  Each day brought buckets of laughter.  Each day brought fun in the surf.  Each night brought love on the sand. But each day also brought something indiscernible.  Something not defined.  But there.  On the surface, he appeared the same.  But when souls have been together as such, the soul knows.  The soul feels the disturbance. The heart has a sensitive richter, registering the ever so slight, but real movement. Movement away from the quiet, from the line of normal, perceptible but not obvious when ones eyes are veiled with a haze one isn’t aware is present.

And while she might know about the minds of many, she could not know the thoughts of one.  But hoped and prayed she might have the chance, to one day . . . know.

And it gets dark.

On the coast.

And the day comes.  When darkness falls.  Total.  Deep.  Suffocating. Blinding.  There is no sun.  There is no place he parlays his wares on the white sugar sand beach where it meets the warm, turquoise water.  For he is gone.  

To where?  She knows not.  Because she knows not the thoughts of one. Nor shockingly, had she ever.

But pearls of this time, have not been gathered to be scattered to the waves, to be lost.  They had been collected and gathered into something beautiful, over time.  Pearls are the small irritants that the sea creature has taken and covered with beauty, treating it with care, until it is something of worth, priceless, a treasure.  Not to be released easily, but to be given great care. Be protected, fought for, searched for when lost.

She searches in the darkness, no map before her.  Walking up and down the beach, searching, calling his name.  She sees him.  Lost?  He looks . . . lost.  There is no light, no recognition, in his amazing green-as-the-stream eyes.  

Where has he gone?  Where has she gone?  In his eyes, instead of her, there reigns confusion.  She speaks, he hears her not her voice, he feels not her heart.  She reaches, he falls away.  She longs to unlock the mysteries of the veil.  But he retreats.  And passes.  As if he knows her not.  

So, she settles on the sand.  That as he walks away, he might somehow remember where he left her. That when the veil is pierced by understanding, he will know how to find her.  He can find her by the trail of pearls she has carefully placed in the sand, that leads back to where she is.  

She has knowledge of the shadows that crease his soul and cover his eyes.  And while she might know about the minds of many, she could not know the thoughts of one.  But hoped and prayed she might have the chance, one day, to know, to know his heart.  

And it is still dark.

On the coast.

She sits on the sand, holding in her hand, a key.  A key fashioned during many hours of painstaking effort, collecting countless moments of sharing and loving and laughter and joining that have poured through her hands, fashioning this key.  As she watches him search for what will restore his sight, she silently prays that he will realize that if he will only ask her to help him find what robs him of his sight, they might discover what the key unlocks . . . together.  To free the shadows that cover his mind . . . and his heart.

Because what she might know about the minds of many, may be able to help them both to know the thoughts . . . of one.

And so.  She waits.  

On the coast of somewhere beautiful, she waits with her heart.