"High Tide at Deception Pass"

I stumbled across this a few weeks ago.  It is a descriptive narrative that I wrote years ago (for a college class, maybe?).  I enjoyed reading it and thought I'd put it here, since I only have the one type-written paper copy, and don't want to lose it.  It is a bit wordy (I liked to use fancy descriptive words back then), but I hope you like it!

High Tide at Deception Pass

I often feel like a shadow of my former self.  The life of my youth seems as a tale told of long ago and far away in a wilder time and more mysterious place.  I have learned to bloom in this desert and to find satisfaction and even contentment in the practical everyday life of straight roads, wide panoramic vistas, and perpetual sunshine.  Yet, in private moments, my heart yearns for the soft haziness of damp, mist caressed forests, the peaceful patter of rain on moist rich earth; and, of course, the wild and vibrant song of the wind through the fir boughs.

In quiet moments, the fey part of my mind travels back to Deception Pass on Whidbey Island, which stands as a sentinel at the entrance to Puget Sound, guarding it from the Straits of Juan de Fuca.  This, to my youthful mind, was the place where the Garden of Eden met with Avalon of old.  Here the waves crash on rocky shores with a tempest born of yearning and driven by passion.  Every crack, every crag had a strange and mysterious hold over me.

As a small child, I would run through the sand, chasing tiny crabs that, despite their minuscule legs, nearly always managed to evade me.  I explored the woods, fully expecting to chance upon a faun beyond the next tree; or a dryad over the next ridge, bathing in an unexpected pool of sunlight.  I believed that I never startled an unsuspecting member of the faerie because I was too noisy and clumsy in my approach.

And so, every year upon my return, I would practice my woods-craftiness; always watchful of where my foot would next fall.  I was careful not to step on the crunchy brown needles, nor on the crackling fallen sticks and twigs that would give away my presence.  Yet, year after year, I would return home disappointed with my inability to find and befriend the wood-folk.

As the years passed, I slowly began to believe, perhaps, the fey had all been driven away by the encroachment of Man; for encroach he did.  My visits to my favorite haunts began to be disturbed more and more by the sight, sound, and smell of Man.  Man tromping over the headland, cutting an un-natural trail through the forest creating a shortcut from the west beach to the north beach.  Man blaring his obscene stereophonic noise and blaspheming the symphonies of nature.  Man's cooking smells obliterating even the scent of evergreen and salt waves.

On one of my last visits to this most sacred and hallowed corner of my soul, I arrived at dusk to a tempestuous storm!  The howling wind called to me and the crash of the surf seemed, yet again, to beckon me, trying to seduce me into the murky depths below.  Of course, I could not refuse the call.  What I beheld was the most violent and spectacular vision my changeable lover had ever displayed!  Never had the tide been so high!  The beach was entirely swallowed up by the sea.  Never had I seen the logs of driftwood dragged from their slumber and so ferociously slammed back to their resting places!  The trees bowed and swayed piteously to the abuse of the wind.  I had never felt so alive!

Early in the pre-dawn mist I ventured forth to see what Triton's passion had wrought on the borders of his kingdom.  All was calm and still, yet the flotsam and jetsam strewn about like hastily discarded rags of clothing bore witness to the previous night's fervor. 

Respecting nature's current mood, and not wishing to transgress it, I began to return to the woods with all the stillness and reverence within me.  As I broached the headland, I encountered another soul emerging from the mist.  Not six feet from me stood a majestic deer!  Her limpid brown eyes gazed into my startled blue ones with no apparent sign of fear.  I felt time stand still.  Here, at last, was the chance meeting I had longed for as a child!  For several moments I reveled in her companionship.  I could almost imagine I had met an ethereal spirit from the land of Avalon.

Like a gunshot, a sharp noise crashed down from the side of the headland, coming straight for us.  Instantly, my companion gathered her strength beneath her and bolted away silently through the thickets crowding the beach.  Moments later, two young boys erupted from the trees.  Seeing me they shouted, "We saw a deer!  We saw a deer!" and quickly thundered off into the thicket in a vain attempt to pursue.

Heaving a sigh, I thought, 'Yes, and not only did she see you, she smelled you, and heard you, too.  You will never meet the fey folk that way.'