Homecoming

There's a promise in the journeys of the mind
You begin to believe that there are miracles you will find
And that someday you'll remember who you are
The seed within a bright and shining star_____  John Denver,  Wandering Soul

The Evil Little Man (ELM)   and I (with Floppy Dog and the four parrots) logged a few miles on the RV before first light that autumn morning.  When dawn arrived, it  looked like any ordinary sunrise on any ordinary day.  But it was the first time in 48 years I had seen the sunrise over  the  Texas town where I was born.   Memories I didn’t know I possessed erupted from a place inside me I didn’t know existed.   A seldom-known sense of comfort and peace settled on me like the red Texas dust after a sand storm. I thought that I could smell bluebonnets and honeysuckle, though they had ceased to bloom months before. 

It was all hauntingly familiar, but it was not “ home.”

We moved on, heading further south.   The PLAN was to plunk down in Galveston, and from there explore the Gulf—New Orleans, Mobile, and on to Orlando.

So much for The PLAN.

I’d never even heard of this obscure little coastal town in which we found ourselves on that Sunday afternoon last October.   I never planned to be here.  I didn’t even know where “here” was.  I did know that  the Indian summer sun had sent the thermometer soaring to 108.  The RV’s air conditioner was overworked and under achieved.  We’d blown out a tire on the boat trailer.    Our  parrots were screaming, the floppy dog was whining. ELM and I were hungry, frustrated and just plain tired. 

So when we rounded the bend and viewed the white beaches, frothy waves, proud old shrimp boats and shore birds of all descriptions, it seemed like a good place to take a break.  We found a lovely oak-shaded resort with its own marina and restaurant on the bay.  By the time we had slipped the boat and finished dinner, I was enthralled with the view.  But when we walked out on the dock and the wild dolphins came right into our boat slip, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

The following morning we took the boat for a sail.  We had the entire 81 square-mile bay to ourselves.  The wind was steady and the sea was gentle.  There were butterflies in the middle of the bay.  The dolphins were all around us.  I felt as though we’d discovered a secret paradise.  

In the succeeding days, the bay has been quick to show us a few of her tricks—fog, gales, rain storms, sunsets and rainbows; and just as quick to share her bounty of fish and seafood  caught with our own hands.  The wild dolphins know our boat now and they always come to greet us.  We’ve made friends of seabirds and sailors, natives and winter Texans.  ELM claims  that this is the place he should have been born. I thought the novelty of the area would wear off and we’d soon be on the road again.   

Six months later, I still find myself waking before sunrise each morning, looking forward to the day and wondering what new gifts await us here in our version of Paradise. Where will we sail?  What will we see?  What will we discover?  Will there be shrimp or crab or oysters or a new viariety of fish?

 The people are friendly and fun.  The birds and wildlife never cease to entertain.  I find joy in every sunrise and serenity in every sunset.   Each day I become more comfortable, more at peace.  Each day is a gift of new friends, new experiences and always a surprise.   Will there be torrents and thunder storms, or rainbows and butterflies?   

I didn’t know what was missing.  All these years I’ve suspected that I was on the wrong path, going the wrong direction, but not knowing where to turn.   I felt out of phase and disconnected, as though Body, Mind and Spirit were somehow   misaligned.   But “sometimes on the way to your dream, you get lost and find a better one.” (. ..River @ Drifting Through Life)

 Against my “better” judgment, I can  feel myself putting down roots.  It’s risky business, getting attached to people and places and things.  Yet, it appears that this old stray dog has, at long last, found a porch to call her own.

So this is what ” home” feels like.