Saved on Sifnos - a travel story out of the Aegean Sea that includes little harbours, sleeping villages, several tavernas, a ferry onward, a Greek cultures festival and a room with a view, travelogue, trip, travel, Greece, Cyclades, Sifnos, Kythnos, ferry, island-hopping



Part 8: And she waits

I go to her, as often as is possible, and walk, thinking of nothing, of sand and silk, night skies and moon pies, my mother, my lover. She yields up hundreds of shells from which I have plucked the choicest pieces. They fill my home, as do jars of her sands, for I cannot live without sand and shell, it's in my bones now, the sands of the sea, and salt, the salt of her tears shed for humanity.

On occasion I see her heralds, the dolphins; they rise and fall, and sometimes play in the waves, the waves. They crash and call, reach out to me and draw me in, the warmth of her water welcoming even in the waning month of October, with the golden glints of the sun off the waters in the tide pools, revealing hermit crabs and shells of polished stones, horseshoe crabs and stingrays, sharks and starfish.

The ocean cements me to this place for now, and rekindles my fires. I dance in the waves when I need a rebirth; and when I need rest, I lay down and close my eyes, listening to the waves dancing, running my hands over the silken sands that have taken up permanent residence in my soul.

No matter where I go, how far away I run, Savannah will leave her imprint on my soul, and I will always return to her azalea lined streets, her architectural diversity, her savory sights and tastes, her Southern charm when I need to visit the light and the dark all over again.

I achieved what I came here to do. I found rebirth in the waves, and a renewed passion for the written word. I do what I do all the way, and it is in part thanks to the fact that Savannah never does anything small or halfway. It is full out, or not at all. When it rains here, it doesn't rain. It RAINS. The water wears grooves in the bricks of the sidewalks and streets flood. Thunder is loud and sharp and constant, lightning is gorgeous and destructive, lacing through the sky on ribbons of electricity.

These forces wove themselves into the fabric of my life, that full out passion for the sensual, the immediate, and the complete. I found it here, but I realized it goes with me, no matter where I venture off. Savannah wears her finest all the time, never saving for a special occasion, for every day is a special occasion.

On days that are the most poetic, I find the words flow like the rains, and inspiration strikes like lightning.

My words take up flight like Mercury, reminding me that swiftness of pen comes when you lean back and open the gates of splendor...

- SB, 2004, Savannah -

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