His heart was like the salt marshes that he loved. Wild, empty, silent, full of far, unobtainable horizons, stagnant and sucking mud, and the brittle smell of salt. It was as if the landscape that he was born into had somehow settled in his soul to become it’s tone and form. And so in time he became the shoreline. Forever battered by storms and isolated, lonely, bitter and compassionless as saltwater in the quietnesses between them.
This vast and beautiful life was empty and meaningless at first glance but to the eye that saw the beauty in the wild there was a spinning web of life that was at once tantalizing and all absorbing. The fleeting call of geese upon the horizon as the sunset, the dance of fleas within the mud, the lonely cry of a gull searching forever for some place of safety and rest. Sounds that formed moments in a whole and drew the viewer in further and further into the solitude and the landscape. Such beauty formed of mud and water, sand and trees, all distinct, all separate, yet part of a whole that was complete in itself. How could a heart that loved nature not find beauty and peace in that place?
That such a one should walk the earth was a blessing, but his walking came at a cost to those who met and loved him. Like the sucking mud they would find themselves drawn in, deeper and deeper, into a state of love and hope until the silent tide covered their face and they became mute and breathed no more. He was as compassionless as the sea that he had become. But I would gladly slide beneath that sea.