She’s alert at the bow, gripping the ledge, bright eyes squinting through sheets of wild rain. Wails lost in the wind, the spray, the haze of salt and mist; she rolls in a wave.
Again and again, merciless, until, exhale, it ends. The waves slow. She tucks low, surrenders to the sea, heavy eyes under a heavier sky.
Hours pass, she rolls to her back, sore from the stillness. Black has poured over the sky; she floats, an island in oceans of darkness. The stars glitter, diamonds spilled from a jar, there is so much of the sky; she can breathe. She rocks with the boat, onward, onward; she sleeps.
A bird flutters to perch, to herald a golden glow, it melts over the sky, the sea, her skin – she blinks silent greeting and thanks.
They pass the day together, blues and grays roll by. She tilts to the sky, eyelashes eskimo kissing the breeze. Breathing. Basking.
And then land.
She leaps overboard, splashes into the sea. A welcome sound.
She is everything and nothing in the pull of the ocean; she is lost in the power of what was long before her and what moves after. She is salt and water and life, she is death and birth and baptism and eternity. She swims and soaks and delights.
She wades ashore, guiding the boat by hand. Two-handed now, through the thickest surf, moving steadily towards the final grind of wood on sand.
She turns, hands on hips, faces what’s before her. Lush and green, every shade of green- the hint of honeydew and the depth of pine, the radiance of emerald, the richest of moss- it is here. It is life.
She steps in.