Nearly beyond my view, a boat glides across the horizon. I listen to the ocean, drinking coffee and thinking about the next step in this journey. Reluctance sweeps through me. Have I planned badly? Should I have just stayed for my entire trip in this spot, in this chair, on the back porch of the Dolphin House where nothing matters but the ocean’s voice and the call of the sea birds?
But still: I know I will come back to this place. I will tug my damaged roots from Midwestern soil and bring them to the healing sand and the wind-worn hillside. All of this awaits me. It has been here for more than my lifetime. It will be here when I return. Time cannot destroy it, at least not the measure of time remaining in my life. The face of this land changes slowly. My own features will age far more than the sea’s stubborn shore before I see the boardwalk at Pigeon Point again.
It’s the morning of the sixth day of the thirty-third month of My [Endless] Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
Keep on exploring! You may find an even more magical place. And you won’t know if you don’t continue the journey. Just think back to before you knew of this place. There is always something more just around the corner or on down the highway. But keep in mind this comment comes from a person definitely afflicted by the wanderer gene.
This exploration and the discovery of your home is more than poetic. The ties have been bound between you and this place. You will return, as you said. Thank you for sharing this journey with us, although it seems more than a journey.