The way home is a heart. Deep harbored arteries flipping blue to a sea gone red, sky scattering stars to the clouds. Night air against skin, across rocky beaches, spruce forest, small cove, and my pulse leaving sand to shells to sunken clam holes. The surface so blue, so blue as I stretch over the swaying kelp, stirring strands with a finger. And my weight is the rhythm of tide, memory a simple rising and falling. I am nothing more than current, moon, a circularity of time now. And that is enough. That truly is enough.

- Excerpt from Bending Betty