I crest the rise of a weathered dune,
and the world breaks open into blue.
The ocean stretches past the curve of shore,
each wave a ribbon of light and shadow
unfurling toward the edge of forever.

Wind rushes in to meet me,
salt-sharp and wild,
striking my face with the taste of storms,
the scent of kelp and distant rain.
Gulls wheel and cry above,
their voices ragged, bright, alive.

I stand still.
For once, I am not adrift.
This is what I dreamed of
without ever knowing.
This is the Voice that called my name
when no one else did.
And it does not welcome me gently.
It claims me.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Valnuary, in the year 988 AF.