How many times have I gone to that ocean, seeking something? How many times have I come at dusk and seen two stars (maybe one an airplane) over the wash of purple and blue above the islands? How many times have I seen waves lapping over black rocks, stepped onto rims of sand at low tide, admired shells beneath me, looked across to where the sunset gleams over Salem? Always, underneath everything, a question. Something too large for a house or a head.
How many times have I gone to that ocean and come away with an answer?
A few.
