Early summer started me off by a quick trip to Oregon for the wedding of my brother-in-law, Mark, and his new wife, Lien. Oregon, as always, rang rich in beauty and nature. The robins- a part of our daily lives, and the mule deer that crossed my path on an early morning drive. I was welcomed well. Lunch with our old pals from Cleveland Street, Bob and Sandy, now residing in the paradise of Cannon Beach--surrounded with art, books, and gourmet grilled cheese. Then the wedding and all its festivities- amidst family-old and new-building and rebuilding bonds lost or forgotten.
And at the center, stands Haystack Rock. A massive chunk of earth standing tall along the shore of Cannon Beach. In the crispness of the clear day before the wedding, the rock is edgy, covered in plant growth--a breeding ground for gulls, cormorants, and tufted puffins. At dusk, its silhouette highlighted by the brilliant orange and red of the fading sun. Fully revealed. Vulnerable. The calm ocean accepts its reflection ever so willingly.
Then within seconds, Haystack Rock is adorned in fog. Surrounded softly by the misty air, like the bride in her elegant gown. Painted, just a bit at first in white, the rock's foundation remains strong, stabilized still through its cover. But slowly, nature moves in and the rock disappears. We know it's there, even though its outline is fuzzy in the haze. The soul retreats, protective; guarded.
But we believe. We persevere. Like the soul on a cloudy day, life moves on. We swim through fog. We swim through the pain...to find joy. Like Haystack, we all reveal and retreat. A free soul must still be shielded.
Our rock reappears and we breathe a sigh of relief. Life is good. Life is hard. Life is foggy and sunny, sometimes all at once. But the passion and beauty always return, whether clouded or clear. And for this, I am eternally grateful.