Savannah
Part
8: And she waits
I
go to her, as often as is possible, and walk, thinking of nothing, of sand and
silk, night skies and moon pies, my mother, my lover. She yields up hundreds of
shells from which I have plucked the choicest pieces. They fill my home, as do
jars of her sands, for I cannot live without sand and shell, it's in my bones
now, the sands of the sea, and salt, the salt of her tears shed for humanity.
On
occasion I see her heralds, the dolphins; they rise and fall, and sometimes play
in the waves, the waves. They crash and call, reach out to me and draw me in,
the warmth of her water welcoming even in the waning month of October, with the
golden glints of the sun off the waters in the tide pools, revealing hermit crabs
and shells of polished stones, horseshoe crabs and stingrays, sharks and starfish.
The
ocean cements me to this place for now, and rekindles my fires. I dance in the
waves when I need a rebirth; and when I need rest, I lay down and close my eyes,
listening to the waves dancing, running my hands over the silken sands that have
taken up permanent residence in my soul.
No
matter where I go, how far away I run, Savannah will leave her imprint on my soul,
and I will always return to her azalea lined streets, her architectural diversity,
her savory sights and tastes, her Southern charm when I need to visit the light
and the dark all over again.
I
achieved what I came here to do. I found rebirth in the waves, and a renewed passion
for the written word. I do what I do all the way, and it is in part thanks to
the fact that Savannah never does anything small or halfway. It is full out, or
not at all. When it rains here, it doesn't rain. It RAINS. The water wears grooves
in the bricks of the sidewalks and streets flood. Thunder is loud and sharp and
constant, lightning is gorgeous and destructive, lacing through the sky on ribbons
of electricity.
These
forces wove themselves into the fabric of my life, that full out passion for the
sensual, the immediate, and the complete. I found it here, but I realized it goes
with me, no matter where I venture off. Savannah wears her finest all the time,
never saving for a special occasion, for every day is a special occasion.
On
days that are the most poetic, I find the words flow like the rains, and inspiration
strikes like lightning.
My
words take up flight like Mercury, reminding me that swiftness of pen comes when
you lean back and open the gates of splendor...
-
SB, 2004, Savannah -
