Savannah
Part 2: The heart of the ocean

I never met her before, the Atlantic. I swam in the Great Lakes of Michigan all my life, but the oceans, well, no, I had missed those somehow. There she was. Huge. Overwhelming. Nothing like the lakes and so enormous, I felt her oblivion to my presence. Then, ever so gently, the salt water slipped over my skin, and my fears of swimming in foreign waters, with unknown creatures, melted away in the ebb of the tide, and I felt her push, her pull, that enigmatic undertow.

I would come here a thousand times and never leave the ocean completely. The sands won't allow it; they were now part of my fabric, traveling with me everywhere I went in this city by the sea.

A little coastal town, Tybee, holds court with the quiet queen. Its practicality lies in the fact that it will never be rid of the sand and the salt, and that suits it just fine. Want a shrimp dinner? I never knew there were so many ways to cook and eat shrimp. A food I once loved, now is passé to me, its abundance its undoing.

But to her I return, over and over. Seeking solace in the waves, answers in the clouds, inspiration in myself, in the winds, the sand my reminder, of grit, what it takes to wear down the spindles of time and etch a place for yourself in the Universe.

I don't think I will be able to live away from her ever again.

I find myself reflected in her shores.

Picture Poem: Shores
Part 3: That secret garden