There were the spotted eagle rays, gliding five feet beneath me. The whales that sounded in the Gulf of Maine, their flukes shining in the late-day sun. The horizon limned in that pale, hopeful dawn after a long night at sea.
And there is this, hiking over the ancient Appalachian granite and hearing the footsteps of my father, who loved the sea and these mountains. Being here is a pleasant surprise in and of itself, something I hadn't planned on, but if there's one thing that the sailing life has taught me, it's that change really is constant, ready or not. For this willingness to live in a moment, to be nimble in my heart, I may find a treasure such as this: the image of my dad in the faces of his grandchildren, all of his sense of joy and wonder alive in their own at this unexpected surprise of berries, a petite sea of green and blue. The circle continues unbroken, and I know with a sudden clarity and gratitude that this is why we've come this way.