Charting a landscape of return

The remains of a beached whale carcass jutted out of the sand at the beach where the family took the ashes of the one who had gone to be ancestor for a simple and unceremonious ceremony.

We gathered on the edge of the lagoon where she loved to swim, upwind we thought (hoped).

Sunlight sparkled blindingly on the clear water. Schools of little fish swam by. Some of us also swam in the silky water or took on the gentle surf of the ocean.

I still regret that I restrained myself from borrowing one of the beached kayaks. Who leaves paddles AND canoe on the side of the water, if not in invitation?

And thus it was done. Those who had come together to celebrate a life, scattered again to resume lives. Some of the group left direct from the beach that day to catch flights to other countries, others had tea appointments or work deadlines to meet, yet others went fishing before driving back to the places they currently call home. A small group of us lingered over lunch in a coastal village, lingered so long in fact that the the ice cream counter had closed when we stirred for dessert. Who closes an ice cream counter mid afternoon in a seaside place? People who have lives and families maybe?

I had given myself another week of watching tides come in and out, wandering the sand dunes of my history, revisiting the beach where I did all the studying for my librarianship degree. Colleagues never questioned why I came back from study leave so tanned and relaxed. This beach got me through an academic qualification which meant a lot in the country where I earned it, and was devalued and misunderstood in the county I moved to later, much later.

It was another glorious week of sunny skies and stalking dunes: practicing my dissolving into stardust moves.

After my death, the molecules of my being will return to the earth and sky. They came from the stars. I am of the stars. (Charles Lindbergh)