right of passage
Come to Arcania at high tide. Each side of the sand bridge acts like oracle. Oracle to the side of our own wandering. This afternoon, I wished to return to the shore and took this path so familiar. From the top of the brae (hillside) I watched as silvery the horizon glowing in my eyes. My heart filled with salt water, as I realised the mighty ocean would not be granting such right of passage. Tide was at its highest.
Rollers looked as that hue of jade-blue as the final days of December. Not many souls were in my sight. At least I thought at first. However, as I parked the motor, two other black vehicles flocked by the edge. Dog walkers. They too must have been mesmerised by the cloak of silver over the sand. So little patch of gold at our feet. Still a good hour till till dusk and I tossed my luck in pale blue sky to come as close as I could be from the edge of my world. The walk to this oceanic lace was littered with pebbles, shells, as well as a few signatures of humanity. Baltic air reached fingertips and still I advanced towards the very edge of flooded bridge. I felt the white lips of winter. I watched with awe the mighty power of each wave, roller, crashing and covering it with grace and anger. Already the island had been battered with so many hissing gales… This Nordic sky began to darken once again.