“white shores, afar,
this is not the end;
regardless time or tide,
we shall meet again.”
I am sitting here somewhat bemused and more than a little surprised at the sudden reappearance of one I felt certain was long and well over the horizon of my knowing in this life.
It occurs to me that, for all I often tell myself that I am eternally optimistic, forever hopeful, it is much more the case that I do not as much keep these things close at hand as set them into swaddling and nestle them into the attic. Over time, the presence of them becomes forgotten in that way that you temporarily misplace the family albums or perhaps that once-upon-a-time favorite pair of shoes.
It is a very soothing and simple delight, this feeling, this moment. Both for a certain exultation that such hopes are never misplaced or wrong to have and, that the reality of infinite possibility truly does remain until we refuse to grant it nourishment in which to do so.
I am replete with happiness for things thought lost that are once again found; a certain sense of thankfulness floats upon the surface of it, an ocean of joy that easily and readily sustains the weight of gratitude and validation.
With hands that tremble for gifts unexpected, I carefully retrieve the swaddling and unfold it; quiet tears of sincerity and devotion that spatter in this moment; a precipitation of celebratory welcome, confetti of the mind and being as I softly whisper across oceans and miles, “I am glad to have this, to share this, M.P.B.; thank you and welcome back.”