It is the time of year for societal introspection. A calling forth of resolutions and good intentions. And whether you are reading this in relevant context or perhaps some time hence, I wanted to close the year with this bonus 13th post. Consider it a little gift from me and a friend to you.
The story below is a recounting of a morning walk along the shoreline along on the salty, windswept Eastern Seaboard in late Spring. Looking back, it remains a high moment of joy by my being utterly immersed in the moment. The invigorating sense of wonder: how it sparks and feeds my mind and soul. It reminds me of how much I need, and probably we all need, times when we can truly meander: for nothing else but the simple pleasure of it.
The snippet you are about to read was sent to a darling friend as I chirped out my adventure in a very long, run on text message. It was a private little gift. Yesterday, I asked if sharing the story was a possibility, so that you too might find a nip of joy or a chuckling smile as your mind imagines the scenes and wanders the shoreline with me that lovely May morning.
Here’s to each of us. Here’s to friendships, big and small. Here’s to wonder. Here’s to always and ever finding the magick in the mundane.
Back to my walk this morning… I didn’t include any words, just the pictures earlier, but here’s the story bit..
It was wonderful walking along the shore, letting the cold water swirl around my calves and ankles and the wind tossle my hair… there were very few people out after the heavy rain this morning…a few surfers (one was more attuned to the waves and was able to catch three times the rides as the other two). They three drifted and joked with each other and reminded me of teenage dolphins… especially the two who were just a bit haphazard…but having a blast …
I found a group of three tourists gathered around a pile of shells scattered in a radius of about 10 yards… hungrily snatching them off the sand… they were all the basic small clam type shell: absolutely nothing exotic about them, but these three were just raking them into their outstretched shirts, now impromptu pouches, as fast as they could. I watched them for a few moments and then sauntered over in a singsong manner and asked if I could join them. One woman opened her shirt, like an apron, to show off her horde of simple shells and reached down and pulled out a handful that she dumped into one of the shoes I was carrying… “so many shells!” She squawked… in my minds eye she was already growing a beak and little beady eyes like a seagull. I thanked her for her kindness and picked up a few shells as well.
Later, on my walk back, I saw another couple searching for shells. I approached them with my right arm outstretched and the biggest shell I had in my collection extended from it, “Here you go!” I chirped doing a silent double take at the sound of my voice, “there was a patch of shells over there (pointing) that may still have a few good ones… shells are hard to come by on this beach.” They smile and nod, bobbing their heads in agreement… are we all going to turn into some form of bird out here on this stretch of tar-tinged sand? …carrion crows are eating dead seabirds… I watch them curiously… we forget they used to eat us on the battlefields long, long ago. I pick up a few pieces of litter and put them in their respective trash or recycle cans…joining the crows for a brief moment in their cleaning the beach.
…fishermen on the long pier. No one speaks to me. I neither speak nor smile to them. One man hoists up a small bonnet head shark and tosses it back into the ocean bragging about the six foot one he brought in yesterday. I ignore them all and instead watch the sun brave its way through the heavy parting clouds.
… if I was 10 years old, I should like very much to play pirate under the pier. I’m here now. Its tidal pools smell lightly of dead fish…the waves make pretty racing patterns as they break against the barnacle clad pilings. The world sounds muffled and muted under here. I squat down low and examine it with the studious eyes of my younger self… “I bet there is buried treasure down here somewhere” I quietly mutter… scheming. … everyone hopes to find a gold coin or a gold ring. As I wandered on, I was gifted an eggshell. Turtle? Gull? Pigeon? It’s almost a perfect oval and slightly soft… I suspect turtle, but am no expert on eggs.
And so I wander, up and down, much like a bird myself: curious, partly wet, windblown…letting my mind clear and sort and prioritize… rearranging the patterns in both my mind and beliefs into a new shape: my here and now ideal life.
Erica Sittler is a Witch practicing her craft in Mississippi where she is an active member of the Temple of Witchcraft. Her magick is in the mundane and in bringing honor and attention to those small things that build a sustainable and adventurous life. She is a Temple Mystery School student under the instruction of High Priestess Sellena Dear.