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The House. {Stories from Topsail Beach}

The house is older.
Made from wood that’s changed colors in the sun and is a bit worn from the salt in the air.

The front and back walls are made completely of windows and when the curtains are open it’s really something special.
The locks on the windows are rusty, enough to make me nervous about opening them.
Once I did I took a look around and breathed in gratitude.

Topsail (20 of 42)

I absorbed the decor and how every piece seemed to placed with intention.
The cast iron skillets and the sign saying “Lovers have more fun.”

The house felt full.
Though I was alone, I read the stories of others trips on the walls.
The placement of the beach hat and how the books all seemed to be well read.
I thought of the different reasons people have visited.
Anniversaries, family vacation, respites, and mini-adventures.

I walked across the street to the beach.
I expected to lay out in the sun so I packed a bag with towels and water.

But, the beach was empty.
The wind was heavy and the tide was high.
Wearing only a football jersey over my swimsuit, I sat directly in the sand.
I nuzzled myself into the shore and pushed my toes deeper into the dirt.

My canvas bag of unneeded supplies hung lonely on the wooden walkway as I read a bit of Anais Nin.
I imagined the depths of being a great artist.
To feel the tenderness that she felt with other great artists.
Every ounce of my being needs to create.
Part of me feels like I’ll find out the creative direction I need to move in sooner rather then later.

There’s not much more for me to do with my time at the beach then be alone with my thoughts.
And, the thoughts of Anais Nin.

I got in the water.
At first I was timid. It was cold and I ran from the waves as they trickled over the shore.
But, eventually I ran in.
I found a sandbar and I danced.
Awkwardly.
I kicked and splashed and I took note of how richly beautiful it is to be alone in the vast ocean.

I want to memorize this feeling.
I don’t want to forget how happy I am to be here.
To be alone.
Un-waited for, un-noticed, and without obligation.
At least for right now, I just exist.

Me, the sunshine on my back, the wind creating tangles in my hair,
and the wooden deck of this beautiful old house that has a lot in common with my soul.
Worn and tethered but so very full of love.

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with love,

Sarajane.

Matt Mitchell - April 30, 2014 - 10:07 pm

You are very Good.

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