She had been living on the shore about a month now and had gotten into the habit of taking early morning walks down the beach and enjoying the solitude, soaking up the majesty of nature. The waves crashing on the beach, the seagulls swooping in looking for a treat and occasionally she could spot a group of seals splashing in the water about a hundred yards out. Laughing and watching their antics made her feel young and carefree again.

Many things had brought her to this place of peace. She knew she was running from reality but at this point she needed the rest and relaxation in which to find herself and decide where she wanted to go from here. The main reason for her escape was a period of mourning for a lost love that seemed to have turned her heart to ice. Feelings of despair and sadness were often enough to send her crawling into her bed for hours on end and if not for forcing herself to get up and enjoy these early morning walks, she was afraid the darkness would totally consume her.

About a mile down the beach from the place she was renting for the summer, sat the ancient remnants of a house long neglected. When she first walked by she noticed the door partially open, the weather beaten stone and the curvature stairs leading to an antiquated crows nest built into the third story. Each morning as she passed by she would let her mind wander into fantasies of the previous inhabitants. Fanciful images of women walking back and forth at the railing watching and waiting for their men to come back from the sea.

Of late she had been taking her walks earlier so she could climb up into the crows nest to watch the sun come up over the water. Soaking up the awesome view and marveling at the fantastic splashes of vivid colors created at sunrise. Her first morning up here she could have sworn she heard the inner music as the sun emerged from the depths of night to slowly paint the world a magnificent hue. It was several days later she heard his voice in the music.

Softly at first, much like a whisper, his words began to caress her senses. Each subsequent morning they became clearer and clearer until she could sit and listen to his deep subtle baritones tell her tales of days gone by and lovers come and gone. Assuming it was her own imagination, she never felt any fear. Instead she would lean back against the railing and let loose her vivid imagination to picture the stories he told her. Exciting adventures, thrilling escapades and sometimes comical antics littered each new tale. Soon her imagination was developing enough substance as to embody him into a presence she could lean back against and feel his arms come around her, his lips close to her ears, whispering and murmuring of times long past.

Maybe she should have questioned her sanity but her phantom, ghost or mental creation held a certain amount of comfort to her, strictly because he was so soothing and seemed to know her needs and boundaries. Her past relationships had left her devastated and her heart could take nor more abuse. She was at the age where the hunger to be loved and cared for was so intensely overwhelming, to face it alone was more than she could bear. Too many times she had given her love only to have it rejected or trampled. Had she suspected he was more than her own creation she would have been more Leary.

Days of listening to his stories, sharing his ideas made her realize that her mind had conjured up her perfect mate. Oh that she could find a man like this in real life. He held her close when she needed to talk and tightened his grip at the times when her inner pain came pouring out of her in a stream of verbal purging. He talked of places he had been, sites he had seen and feelings both great and small.

Exploring each others sensitivity and intelligence, finding more and more common ground and compatibility. It surely had to be her imagination because no man could be so well suited to her needs and wants. She would even fall asleep at night hearing him whisper the words she long to hear. "I love you " Making her wake earlier in the mornings wanting to rush down to the cottage to be in his arms again.

It should have been no surprise that it would come to an end. Her hopes and dreams had managed to build themselves back up again so that when the crash came she was up so high the impact was devastating. Walking into the cottage with a smile on her lips and love in her heart, the empty chill was like walking into a brick wall. Standing in the center of the room, knowing with every fiber of her being that he was gone, she leaned back her head and screamed a scream of rage and despair. Violent anger made her cries even more piercing. Darkness threatened and numbness soon settled over her body dispelling the tremors into an almost eerie calmness.

Turning she walks out the door but instead of turning towards home she keeps walking straight. Across the sand and into the light mist of ocean spray to the dampness of mud where the waves were receding. Water splashed at her ankles, and then her knees, getting ever deeper. The waves try to push her back but her body forges onward and her eyes unseeing focus on a spot way out to sea. As the ocean floor falls away she starts to swim. Long sure strokes taking her no place but farther out. When the muscles in her arms start to strain she ceases to stroke and lets her body roll over to her back and float along with the gentle toss of ocean. Images of her life flash across her mind and the loss of love becomes a glaring beacon to her inadequacy. Closing her eyes tightly shut trying to block out the pain unsuccessfully. Finally acceptance invades her entire being and her body relaxes and starts to sink. Deeper and deeper, there is no chill, there is no fear, and there is no pain. Only blackness.

05/09/02