Kennebunk Maine… the wild rocky Atlantic stirred by the last gasps of hurricane Dorian, high tide, wave after wave, the hypnotic beating of the ocean’s heart. My mind surrenders to a meditative state. The winding shore road is edged with boulders that stand like sentries, if you dare to venture below you have entered the realm of those that travel above and below the sea. The receding tide uncovers a rocky pathway to the water’s edge, blanketed in a seaweed forest of colors and textures, anchored tough to withstand the never ending furies. I scan the recesses and crevices, I am compelled because I sense there is something to be found. Everything that lures me is just beyond reach, just beyond safety. Boots and socks off, down the rocks I go, planning each step for the surest footing, if I want to reach this unknown, I must be a part of it. And then it’s there. In a bed of purple seaweed, an altar of wild hearts, left behind by someone. To be discovered by someone like me. If I had not looked harder, reached beyond my moorings, risked a crashing fall, heard the sirens’ songs, I would not have found the heart shaped rocks, I would not have been the person they were left for, I would not have found what I was really seeking, my own wild heart.
