I lied to myself. I toed the line, but it wasn’t my line.
I played it safe, living in the city, but it was only a matter of time before my heart begs to exorcise the lie.
Surely the panic rising in the aftermath of that visit to the war museum.
I remember that day like a dull pain. With mostly—if not only—the combination of the truth that what I wanted, what I needed was the moon and the wind and the shore and the ocean and the mountains and the warm rocks.
The heat and the softness of the sunshine.
The peace and the rawness of the storms and the cold.
The motion and the rhythm and the ebb and the flow of the tides and the wind.
Of this glorious weather all around
This was my line, this was my line, that’s keeps me whole, that keeps me rooted, that gives me faith
This nature frames my world… It’s a leitmotiv, a compass, an anchor, a constant companion, a steady hand.
I cannot deny it must be shared with those I love… through mutual touch, like a common DNA, like blood flowing from the top of the mountain, downstream along the valleys, down the stream, along the valley, into the ocean of each of us.
— Charlotte Davies