Sanctuary
November 8, 2013
Sanctuary
They were two friends who had known each other for four years and yet they were proverbial strangers. On the final day of summer, they prepared to ride out together on his highly polished black and chrome Harley Davidson towards the verdant coast of Cape Ann, to the port of Gloucester, Massachusetts. There were billowy cumulus clouds in the sky but still, the sun was shining fiercely. Even with the indulgent end of summer wind that bore the perception of fall in its flurries, it was the epitome of the perfect day for riding. She swung her right leg up over the seat, positioned her left foot on the foot peg and slid onto the back of his bike. Once positioned comfortably on the back seat of the rumbling Harley, he instinctively took his cue that she was ready to roll and they roared off in search of some succor for their solitary souls.
As they rode along the winding road to Gloucester, the lush green landscape showed an indication of the ambiance of fall colors to arise as the temperatures shifted with the season. Yes, the day was already holding the promise of fulfillment. Both of them appeared to be drinking in the scenery as though it were a snifter of fine cognac, the taste of which rolled onto their taste buds, washed down their throats and warmed their souls. Over the thunderous roar of the Harley engine, they conversed intermittently of the splendor of the diverse terrain where they dwelt. Both of them had an acute perception of nature’s resplendence, which encompassed them in its glorious vistas. “The salt marshes and the estuary land are teeming with nature,” she shouted into the wind rushing past her as they rumbled down the road. “Wildlife; flora, fauna, it is all here in abundance.” He nodded with a smile in ascent.
Wandering through the small pastoral towns along the way to the fishing port of Gloucester by Harley was the perfect fashion to spend any day, let alone the closing day of the summer. They drove past people walking about in the center of the idyllic coastal New England town of Essex, soaking up the final shafts of summer sun, oblivious to the colder seasons to follow. The sun dappled the leaves on the trees with a patchwork of shimmery light as the breeze twisted them on their limbs like hands waving about, sometimes reaching too far. Quietly they drove along, embracing the unalloyed sense of freedom that comes with riding on a Harley.
As he leaned the bike into the corners, she moved with him, leaning in as well, not holding on to him, but confident in her own balance. As the bike inclined to the left or right, they were for a few seconds in time tilted precipitously close to the road. She wondered to herself, should she reach around and hold on to him with her arms wrapped around his taut, sinewy waist. She did not feel confident in that intimation, for to wrap her arms around him implied a familiarity she perceived she remained acutely uncertain of. What was this ride about, she wondered to herself? Was it a date or simply two friends bereft of family and loved ones, seeking a little joy for a few short hours?
When they wheeled over the crest of a hill, she caught her breath with an audible sigh, as she gazed down on Gloucester Harbor glistening in the luminous mid-day sun. The water exhibited a fusion of blue hues – from lapis to teal, cadmium to manganese. The effect of the pigments appeared to commingle so elegantly, that it elicited the impression that a painter had taken oil paints and palette knifed them on to the canvas that stretched out before their eyes. On the horizon line, the seawater shimmered like a sheet of finely hammered silver speckled with infinitesimal irregularity that beheld some mystical eminence. It took her breath away to see the wide spans of open water cradled by the rocky cliffs of Gloucester on either side of the stately bay.
As they descended the hill on the motorcycle, she inhaled the sea air that was fresh and clean yet, slightly tinged with an aura of haze. Parking the bike, the two strangers walked along to the steep, rocky cliff overlooking the cove, speaking only of the scene before them. Oh yes, there was an uneasy, undeclared sensation suspended in the atmosphere between them. Yet, they each appeared complacent with the moment, satisfied with just being in the company of another soul endeavoring to make sense of what life had dealt them. Sitting on the side of a warm, restorative rock in the sun, they swiftly became enthralled with two schooners making way across the waterfront. Conversing effortlessly about the schooners, together they mused on the two graceful ships, which echoed the perception of some venerable era, long ago in Gloucester Harbor.
Suddenly, the larger of the two schooners came about in the center of the cove and they watched from the bluff as it dropped and furled its voluminous sails. After a short time, the ship began to motor in towards the docks in town and soon it drifted out of view. The smaller of the two schooners had also disappeared from the horizon. With conversation pieces passing like the ships at sea, it was time to motor on. Subsequently, the uncomfortable question arose of what to do next. Ah, the unspoken words hung on the wind, dangling like a squirming fish on a hook. They settled on letting the spirit move them, and the day wound on as a mission without a cause.
After stopping for lunch, the two companions meandered along the road, journeying back towards where they had begun their passage. They cruised into the westerly sun, which hung lower in the sky, yet, still warmed the mid-afternoon air. As they neared familiar territory, she had the sensation that she was not ready to let the day end. She realized that she had settled into a more insouciant ease riding behind him. In fact, suddenly she became mindful that she was rendered almost spellbound by his masculine scent that was rising from the back of his neck like some exotic intoxicant. She swiftly extricated herself out of the enticing illusory aroma that she longed to lose herself in and found herself suggesting that they ride down to the Parker River National Wildlife Refuge on Plum Island. “Let’s do it,” he bellowed over the growl of the Harley, “I’ve never been there.”
The motorcycle ride down to Sandy Point, at the southern tip of the Plum Island, was a dry, dusty trip through the salt marshes and woods of the Refuge that were metamorphosing daily with the cooler weather. As they jangled along on the bumpy, pot-holed dirt road, it spewed a fine blanket of road-dust over them that raced up their nostrils and into their mouth tasting of arid earth. At the end of the rigorous dusty road, paradise appeared on the horizon. Once again, the two companions found themselves sitting quietly looking out on the ocean, this time facing Cape Ann, from which they had just come. There on the edge of the beach grass, where the fine taupe and amethyst sand stylishly spread down to the water’s edge, someone had erected a large structure of driftwood on the beach. Each of them selected their respective seats on the worn, weathered driftwood and again they amiably spoke of the panoramic view that stretched out before their eyes.
Soon she noticed that he appeared to have unburdened his weary soul sitting there on that desolate beach, which was the hidden to the world by that long, rough and rutted stretch of parched dirt road. It was clear to her keenly perceptive mind that he had already fallen in love with Sandy Point. She could see that he felt the pull of the currents of the Parker River rushing out to sea, and he was allowing those currents to wash his troubles out with them. She visibly perceived the places where he held his pain loosen and she knew that his pain was slipping away with each breath he took. She observed his soul expand, not unlike her own did when she spent time there on that treasured beach that she had spent her childhood years and better part of her adult life enjoying. There was a communion between them, there in that space, a space sacred to one for so long and yet, newly sacred to the other. It was understood implicitly that that beach, which was ever changing from tides and weather, was akin to consecrated ground. In unspoken thoughts, each knew that the driftwood structure had become a rustic temple of the pagan church of the Mother Earth. In unison, each breathed deeply and submitted their conscious to the holy space.
She talked about her propensity to be able to call certain animal totems into her realm. Hawks, dolphins, eagles were among the magical beasts she had drawn to herself over the years. All of a sudden, two Harrier Hawks flew alongside of them, low to the ground, as Harrier Hawks fly, and they swerved up over the hill along the edge of the beach. The hawks spiraled up into the sky, descending swiftly, the two small raptors danced wildly on the winds. Reaching out for each other with talons dropped, the hawks circled and veered closer and then the two birds flew apart only to repeat their movements again and again. Time seemed to be suspended, as the two companions watched the pair of hawks, mesmerized. Breaking from the enchantment of the performance, he looked over at her, smiled and asked, “What do you think they are doing up there?” “Oh… that would be the mating dance of the Harrier Hawk,” she murmured nonchalantly. Without a word, he slid towards her, pulled her close to his sturdy chest and into his rugged, resilient arms. With all the fervor of the two mating hawks in their transcendent coupling, he kissed her. The spell was cast, the veil was lifted, and there was sanctuary in the arms of the two solitary companions.
