The first moisture in several weeks dots the windshield of my car. Enough has reached the severely parched ground to dampen the pavement. The scent of rain, of water, of life fills my car, seeps in through the slit of the open sunroof. The hiss of the wet roadway siphons my thoughts to a distant place, nearly a year since my last visit, but a place of my youth.
Somehow, a change of reality. The redolence of the ocean captivates my awareness. The sound of slick tires spinning off spray, implicative of waves crashing, then receding from large, black rocks stretching toward the horizon. Jetties of safety, the high tide watermark delineated by rows of tiny barnacles, tinted an overcast grey.
In my past I stood atop those boulders, pondering the immensity of what lay before me.
I never did find the answer.
Maybe that’s why I’ve returned again.
An uncertain passage of time, but long enough to find myself in the city. “Walk on the Ocean” booms from the speakers, captures the mood.
My memories fade.
The longing anew.
I still search for answers.
I want to return home.