Stepping through the door is a phrase my sister uses, and perhaps will be the subject of another post. Right now I am comfortably ensconced on the settee in the salon of the Evening Light. Rain is pattering on the coach roof overhead, and thankfully staying on the outside. It is a late November rain, and even here in Hampton, Virginia it will chill you to bone, given a chance. I am warm, tucked under a beautiful piece of embroidered wool, an unexpected and wonderful gift pressed into my hand moments before I departed.
This port, steeped in history, is a step on a road uncertain, the only thing that is known is that I will return, not to the Nyack I left, but to arms of dear friends and family.This is really the first chance I have had to reflect and write.
Departing (Through the Door)
Departures are messy things no matter how neat and orderly they may seem. Departures are almost always driven by an external influence or need. In my case it is a journey long postponed, nearly a lifetime postponed. You could even say planned, though I think that might give you an idea that things were clean and orderly. In my case they start pulling up the docks in Nyack on the first of November … so it was depart or wait another year … step through the door or wait another season, or year.
Departures are scary things, steps into the unknown that the sensible person avoids whenever possible. I know this because I have been told this over and over. For years I listened, and pretended to be Sensible – sensible people stay home and act out the script they were handed.
Even talking about departure is a scary thing, because you can never come back, once you step through that door you are a different person. Return is not possible for the very act of stepping through the door changes you, or perhaps more accurately catalyzes potential that has always been there.
Looking back, with only a couple of days, and a tiring night run through the sloppy remnants of a gale has put all the sweat and pain associated with the act into a frame, one of those box frames with glass over the top, and it’s hanging on the wall, somewhere. The important things I carry in my heart.
I will be writing two regular (not to be confused with scheduled) series, this one which will be boat centric and one for RiverRiver that will be more about writing, and what a poet photographer sees while journeying
And thank you for everybody who helped me get off the dock. The list is long and on my list to share. Further it appears that not only my dreams are on the line, but those of many others. I will try not to disappoint, even if this is my dream.