Today was also the first day since the hurricane that the ocean looked like its normal self again. No crazy waves. No rip tide. No choppy surface. Just calm and inviting.
I noticed a couple things this weekend though, after the storm.
And really–how curious? providential? that a hurricane blew through here at the end of my stay. People say art mirrors life. And I say, life mirrors nature. At least mine does.
Anyway, I noticed a couple things.
The storm was a wicked storm–not as large as we’ve seen in past years, or quite as devastating–but she was a mean one, that Irene. Dark and brooding, and mean.
When I went to the beach the morning after, there was a two foot drop from the dunes where her waves had dug into the beach and dragged it out to sea. The erosion was so dramatic, it looked as though she had simply cut into it with a fork and eaten it for dinner.
Isn’t that the way it is though?
The storm comes, dark and brooding and mean, and peels back the outer crust, biting chunks out of us, leaving us exposed and scarred.
But. Then the storm passes, the skies clear up, the ocean regains its composure, and the Earth begins replenishing itself. It begins healing itself. And by next summer, you’d never be able to guess the wrath the ocean and sky poured out on our beach last week. The scars will be but faint lines in the sand. (Or skin.)
And you know? As painful as it is, we sometimes need the outer crust to be pulled back. Sometimes the armor and scales need to be chipped away so that the “essential us” can be found.
Another thing I noticed were all the new shells. Our beaches (thanks to the tourists) are usually pretty barren when it comes to shell picking. But when the storm came through, it kicked up the ocean floor and spewed a new collection of seashells onto the shore.
And I saw that sometimes, only a storm can bring you the thing(s) you need/want–new shells, new opportunities, new paths.
It’s in a churning sea that the beautiful hidden things are brought to the surface.