Hunting Island’s skeletal beauty is enchanting.  Washed out tree lines stand vigil in the wake of hurricane after hurricane as the wind and the sea sweeps them away.  Some cling to their original roots, refusing to give up their sea side homes.  There are places in the world where I have seen the future of these trees.  In Namibia, there is a place called Sousesvlei where the ancient petrified trees lie amongst the tallest and most ancient dunes in the world. Those trees are the pre-curser for what the trees on Hunting Island will one day become; the dry earth bed only minerals whispering the rich sea life that once thrived there. 

In the 15 years in which I have been absent from Hunting Island I have seen great change upon my return.  The island has shrunk, one of its roads lays in rubble, the tree line and the water line have become one.  It is the cycle of the earth, the world, to give and to take.  The mighty earth giveth, and the mighty earth taketh away.

I muse that I am like the trees.  Ever changing, battered by the elements, yet glorious in my knotted countenance, a beauty to the life I’ve lived.  I was the tree still standing as the salty water caressed its limbs tempting it to its salty depths.  I was the tree who stood rooted in the earth, not giving way to the call of darkness.  Every day I would glory at the rising of the sun which lit the world around me and the soft hues of the sunset as the sun dipped once again into the Western Sky.

With the notion of mortality on my mind, I explored the knarled trunks and white sandy beaches, the marshes the homed the beginning of sea life, the birds that soared above me.  I felt the strength in my legs as I pumped my pedals and cruised along the island.  I found joy of the wind in my hair and the warmth of the sun on my face.  When I had reached the magical place where the fresh water of the river met the salt of the ocean, I coiffed my clothes and plunged into the startling cold.  In and out I dove, counting to 3 before each submersion, rising again, the beams of lights sparkling on the surface of the water around me.  I would Baptize myself of my sins and my sadness, the doubts I had of humanity, and revel simply in the power of being.  Again and again, submersion, breath, water, earth.  Complete, my body tingling with cold, the drops falling from my body like the cares in my heart.  I was alive, I was in the moment, and I was one with all that was or would ever be.