Pause

It’s an easy hike among the big cedars, and it feels good to be out with her backpack again. Lindsey threads between the massive trunks and steps along logs laid across bogs, enjoying the lush mosses, ferns, salal, and salmonberry of the rain forest. She’s been blessed by the weather gods, sunny days holding with a high-pressure front.

She raises her face to the burning crimson leaves of a vine maple backlit by the sun, tilting her head to play with the flickers of filtered light. Then she ducks around the bush to stand on the edge of the bluff, watching the ocean waves crash against dark rocks below. She finds the steep switchbacks, heads down, and strikes off along packed sand moistened by the retreating tide. Offshore, more jagged dark rock formations stand against the crashing sea, and ahead in the distance, the beach curves toward another steep headland she’ll have to round at low tide the next day.

She sets up her tent beside a tannin-brown creek and stashes her food in a bear-proof container, just in time to save it from a bold party of racoon burglars who invade the camp and start poking around the tent. She shoos them off, then wanders out over the jumble of drift logs. An endless sweep of sandy beach runs from one rocky headland to another down the coast, seagulls threshing the air with their cries. She shucks her boots and wades out into the froth of rushing and retreating waves, savors the cold, tingling touch of the sea. Spreads her arms to the open horizon and all that boundless energy.

She smiles as she hears Nana’s words again, from that morning:

“You stick to your guns, Linny. My boy Damon, he’s not used to gals saying no. Not even maybe….” She chuckled, then sobered. “I know him, and this time he’s serious. I do believe he’s hoping to make something real with you. But you got to be ready. He knows that.”

Lindsey, surprised, thanked her.

Nana nodded. “You’re okay, then. You just stay in your story, don’t worry about no happy ever afters.”

Lindsey smiles now and closes her eyes, spreads her arms and turns in the swirling calf-deep water. The ebb sucks back to sea, pulling the sand out from under her bare feet. She laughs and spins faster, then runs to follow the flowing waterline. With the next surge of breaking waves, the flooding waters chase her toward shore again. She laughs once more and spins, running and dancing the edge of land and sea, leaping the questing fingers of tide, pirouetting along the foamy boundary as she leaves a trail of footprints gleaming in the sun.

Finally, wet and tired, Lindsey turns back toward shore, flushing up more gulls as she gathers polished pebbles along the drift line. Sensing a movement behind her, she turns.

A river otter, brown fur sleek and wet, runs with an awkward humping gait along the mouth of the creek toward the waves. Then another one, smaller, darts along behind. Lindsey catches a breath and holds it as the two eye her, tilt their heads, then relax and roll like puppies in the sand, wriggling on their backs. They jump to their feet, shake vigorously, and trot into the waves, where they dive and surface and dive in curves of sleek grace.

Lindsey’s rooted, watching as the mother otter and her pup emerge from the waves to meander past her and nose along the creek again. She can feel herself beaming, realizes suddenly that she’s happy.

She’s being. Here. Now.