Of the sea.

I live in a landlocked state. With houses that look the same, and roads that are laid out perfectly in a grid

by someone who hoped we would not get lost.

The shopping malls, with stores selling pretty things, conveniently at every corner.

The gas stations, selling candy and soda-pop and things to help the journey in the cars go well, to go faster.

So faster we drive, on the perfect roads.

Our lives, quite eloquently and effectively sanitized of the miraculous.

What of these dreamworlds, at night? They show us in pictures, and perhaps on the news, of the sea.

But we are landlocked, you see. How do we know such things are real?

The strength of waves, crushing down, over and over, onto a sand-filled beach. Creatures we really do not believe exist, shimmering in the waves. The sun sparkling on the shore, tiny tide-pools a whole world to be explored.

And here, we can see the sky. We look up casually, at the changing ceiling of our lives. But how could it possibly go on past this? We know, they tell us, of far off planets and galaxies, with swirlings and hopings and no endings, colors beyond what anyone could ever put on a canvas.

But we are landlocked you see. To these bodies. Trapped, in a world sanitized of the miraculous, while it

is, to our great surprise,

already.

This is my season. If you can own a season.

Red wagons with smiling children, vegetable gardens full of things I cannot exactly pronounce. The slight mist that settles in the hair, and makes your hair dewey with expectations and when you look around, the world sparkles slightly, holding its breath.

Music and art in the streets that make you take that breath in once more, and gasp at the beauty there. Water flowing over songs, and portraits of people you have never met but that you inexplicably love more than anything you have ever owned. Will ever own.

The exhaustion of this, the bubbling inside of you that threatens to become more important than any plan, the excitement of recognizing the living; the vitality of every place you look.

The power in your words and expressions, the way you can take someone who is fragile and make them whole with a single action. The winter struggling to become something more beautiful.

And all the words, all the feelings, all the prayer, all the insecurities and hope emanating, at the same time, from all the hundreds of thousands of souls. The quick smiles and quick laughs and the individual struggles of what it means to be human, the tracks of life struggling to become something

more beautiful.

This is where the winter and cold surrender the pain of change, and this is me now.

Surrendering the confidants, the carefully laid out plans, and learning to savor this moment now, to take it all in because this is fleeting and worthy of my hope.

So this is it,

the first part,

The part that is exciting.

When there is a new soul to see,

to meet, to inspect with sparkling Curiosity.

Well, hello there. Where have you been, I have missed you,

I think.

I have been sitting here, sipping away at all the pleasures this life

incites, waiting for you to join me.

So here you are. You laugh at my jokes, and you have deep secrets,

and there is nothing more I could ask for than this.

Welcome to the table, we have been waiting for you. There are feasts to be had and countries to explore, colors to create and games to be played.

And we have already won.