Hurricane Salty.

I often think about how my life has evolved as if at some point I had decidedly, unavoidably and unalterably, opened my arms and allowed a hurricane to blow through knowing only that I would survive, but having no idea where I'd land.

And sometimes (probably more often than not) I get the feeling I'm actually still swirling around in the wind and the water, that it's become a part of me and I have welcomed it- not unknowingly, but not consciously- perhaps, merely, necessarily.

I know it was the right choice. Not any one choice in particular- the hurricane itself. The thrill. The risk. The blindness. The sense of self that came with letting myself to to the mercy of the elements while all of my pieces up until now have been abruptly whisked away to scatter and eventually find their way back to drift calmly into place.

And what, exactly, do I hope will come of all of it?

I can hope nothing and only live- except that maybe I'll find a quiet moment in my wanderings for a nonsensical smile to find it's way to me at just the right time to confuse a fellow human into one of their own. Maybe even for the first time.

In the wise words of advice from a dear friend which I have not forgotten, 'Run true my dear sailing queen- give them hell and beyond.'

And so I shall.