Seewe Bay, SC – May 2, 2013
The wind came from first light and never stopped. Endless and alive, it pressed across the salt marshes, roaring, raising white caps on brown water, its gusts taking shape in flicking blades of grass.
Nothing else moved in the sky. Pelicans abandoned flight and disappeared. Egrets hid in the grass. Plovers crowded together behind oyster mounds with their heads sunk into their bodies. All seemed content to wait for another day.
I did not want to listen to the roar or the birds or anything but my will to move forward. I’ve been gone too long to sit and watch water move. I don’t have the time for it. I want to go, to cut away pieces of the map.
I snuck along edges, picked my way through mazes of marshland, slid from side to side of every channel, feeling, searching for some way forward, some quiet pocket in the roar.
But it never came.
I traded seven hours for ten miles and the wind only roared and roared and roared until my arms grew heavy, my hands tight, and my will cracked to pieces.
The wind will be back tomorrow, but so will I.