Sunday morning. Blue skies, bluer water. The ferry glides through the water. In Active Pass we meet a sister-ferry headed for the Island.
Pristine white deck railings. Forested chunks of rock jut upwards from the sea.
Gulls wheel overhead, flying into the wind, holding themselves almost motionless against the sky.
On Monday we gathered to celebrate a crossing of a different kind. Once 10 siblings posed for photos, stair-stepping in age from my mother, the eldest, to my uncle, the youngest. Now they are 7. Seven red roses for the surviving siblings, two yellow roses for sisters who crossed ahead, and one white rose for my Auntie Clara. We grieve, but not without hope.
While walking and waiting for the ferry on the return trip, this bit of moss caught my eye. Life springs up. It's irrepressible. Precious.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there,
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139: 7-10