My legs felt leaded by the dark, wet, volcanic sand. I had walked about a quarter mile when I decided to glance back at my footprints on the empty beach. I was thinking about the solace cards people send to those who are feeling at a low point in life. The card shows two sets of prints on the beach, where only one person walks in solitude. I laughed out loud at the gull who was slowly waddling up the beach toward me.
As I turned back toward my walk, wishing my parents were still alive so I could sit and have a good talk, I spotted a starfish. It was missing one arm. I felt slashed too. It looked close to death but I decided to walk it back to the sea a few yards away. As I gently cradled the starfish, I chanted to it, "Just in case. Just in case."
The fog on the Bay of Fundy curtained a good portion of the pulsing ocean. I thought of whales, fossils and pirates, as I kept casting glances at Grand Manan that stood like a thick shield across the gray mist. I glided the starfish back to its' salt-water home. "Just in case."
I am not sure anymore what it's called that I had lost. But I know it eventually comes back around with thoughtful time. It can be found again. Starfish can regrow an arm. People come and and go in life. People regrow too. We all get rejuvenated if we are opened to it. It is like aging, it is just there, having come to you again on its own.
That is what a lesbian thought as she walked alone on a beach one day. Again, we are more alike than different.