This & this & this --
sweeping shorelines, singing skies, & the sea, the sea, the sea, always the endless volatile wind-torn singing sea. I think if anything is intimacy incarnate, it is this: the kind of wildness that refuses to be tamed, the kind of softness that refuses to be sharpened. The sea lives in a place very quiet & deep inside of me, thrumming in my marrow in the way only the truest things do. I heard it here, standing on the soft sands of a place I have never been, the way I always do in a saltwater breeze, no matter which shore it might be. It spelled out something good & real & free on the singing waves, something like home, home, home, welcome home.