My small conversation with the Light-Maker bolsters my strength to endure the wild, unruly Ocean. When my voice breaks fully free again, I’ll offer more words, but for now, I revel in the Maker’s response to me. Joy that rivals the expanse of Ocean spreads between my heart and soul. Peace becomes a part of me rather than just the place I stand and sleep. An entire world of radiance has been gifted in response to my words that came out small and flat. 

Aneta’s strength makes more sense to me. Her perseverance is a result of a thousand great gifts, not her own ability to strive and overcome. There’s another side to thirty years. . .the side where you see healing and joy and bigger life than you could imagine on your own. 

“Well, look at that! You have daffodils now.” Aneta’s voice cuts through the thoughts that have claimed my entire morning.

I look down to see the skirt of my dress replenished with manzanita and lily blooms, yet overtaken by soft yellow daffodils. The marigolds stretch the entire length of my dress but the daffodils gracing the skirt are prominent, bold. 

“I guess I do.” My reply sounds more like laughing than speaking, but I can’t help it. I’m stunned in the best way all over again. 

I see Aneta’s eyes shimmer in the heightening light, and somehow I know the shimmering is akin to tears of gratitude. She grabs my hand and whispers the quietest, most heartfelt thank you. 

I squeeze her hand in return and reply, “Anytime, Aneta. Truly.” 

Stella joins us on the edge of Peace and we welcome her with questions of care and concern for her well-being. How we love her!  

“I like your blue flowers, Stella. So pretty! You’ll have to tell us the story sometime.” I love how quick Aneta is to always rejoice in the good things that belong to someone other than her. 

Stella sheepishly replies, “I don’t know what they’re called yet, but I’ve a feeling I’ll find out one of these days.”

“Oh, you will.” My words are emphatic, certain. My marigolds and Aneta’s sunflowers are the proof for my statement. Gifts like these always get a name.

Comfortable silence accompanies the Ocean air and we bob up and down as the waves swell softly beneath us.

The hours pass, each one clothed in its own kind of contentment. It’s a gentle day on Ocean, a day for reveling in all that has taken place, a time for savoring the tiny displays of light debuting on the water’s surface.

As the afternoon ends, I stand to stretch my legs. Sunset is happening soon and I have learned to pause and let these life-eyes take in every second, storing away each color in the sky. I know when the storms come and the waves attempt to suck me dry, I’ll need the reminder of every display the Lighter-Maker’s ever made.

I walk the length of Peace and let my body stretch out before I settle in for another sunset. But when I reach the farthest edge of Peace, I see something I’ve never seen before. What is this? 

A thick shower of green vines rustles in the breeze. I approach cautiously. My hands hold more courage than my heart does and my fingers push back the curtain of vines hanging from nowhere, yet swaying securely.

I step over the divide. The coarse seaweed floor continues but slowly begins mixing with the lush green grass of my once beloved meadow. Can this be real? I walk faster. How does my meadow look now? Will Old Maryn still be here? I begin to run, but the ground is stable and unlike Ocean. My legs are clumsy and my breathing is rapid. How am I here?

Even though I’ve been running for miles, the meadow is still and unmovable. Just like it’s always been. My urgency is fruitless, so I force my feet to stop moving. Instead, I take in the meadow with my new life-eyes. I turn my head in every direction. I sink my feet farther into the dewy grass. 

And I breathe in deeply.


Copyright © 2019 Sierra V. Fedorko, All rights reserved.

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