J is for Jockey's Ridge

It's not always easy to keep going. On days we are trapped in a cage of our own making. Those carefree days when we could soar and fly a kite are relegated to a half-forgotten past. I was always fascinated with sand dunes and flying kites high across the wispy marram grass. The most beautiful place I remembered from childhood was the island of Lindisfarne and coming upon a pristine and undiscovered wilderness of dunes beyond the ruined abbey.

The shore at Lindisfarne seemed little changed since the Vikings came ashore here. In the long years past I have dreamed of the place half a dozen times.

Jockey's Ridge in North Carolina, the highest sand dune in the eastern United States took me back. I have climbed the dunes with the kids a few times and flown kites into the high blue. These miles of sand like strung out from sea to shining sea, in this case, the Atlantic and the Albemarle Sound.

I wonder sometimes why we head to the sea for solace. Is it a self-fulfilling prophecy because people have done it for years? Do the waves and the calls of the gulls lull us back to childhood? It's hard to know but there is something about the feel of the end of those sun-kissed days that puts it all in perspective. It's tempting to let go and to drift where the current takes us.