Dreams do come true. I've dreamed for a year of being back on Ocracoke. I'm finally here, with a fierce wind howling, rattling the windows, white-capping North Pond and pushing sea grass into my front yard. Rain was predicted for this glorious Sunday, but didn't come (yet), so my walk on the beach into the wind was breath-taking. I asked the dripping boy clutching his boogie board where he was from. "Russia," he replied. He'd have to be, to be swimming today in the steel-gray ocean. But the Blues were running, so the fisher-folk were happy.
I watched an Ocracoker pilot his Harker's Island boat into the Pamlico Sound chop this morning. He stood tall and proud at the wheel. Reminded me of Daddy and those cold mornings he and I spent in the oyster beds at the north end of Wrightsville Beach. Surely other children get their own oyster knife for their fifth birthday?
Wandered through the village, stopping at familiar stores, asking about holiday hours and plans for sales. My two favorite stores weren't open today. Kathleen O'Neal's Island Gallery and Sunflower won't be open until later in the week. That's part of the charm of Ocracoke - allowing myself to just be in the moment and know that what's meant to be, will be.
Molasses Creek, Ocracoke's home-grown bluegrass band sings, "My soul is in the water." Mine too. In the water, in the salt wind whipping sand, in the cry of the gulls streaming in black and white ribbons parted in the night by the ferry's bow, in the ochre sunset over the sound, and in the simplicity of just being in one of the most beautiful places on Mother Earth.