Soul Tides

TWO || mid-migration seaweed.

After the dog's burial, Mara walked with Mrs. Miller down to the cove below her house to set flowers adrift for Eunice. Tucked away amongst the towering cliffs of the lakeshore, the inlet was a beloved hidden gem privy to only those who knew it existed. From the cliff that Mrs. Miller's house sat upon, two craggy peninsulas reached out for one another, never touching, breaking the choppy waves of the lake. Golden sand stretched within their arms, kissed by the calm waters of the natural harbor.

As the women came around a boulder jutting up from the sand, they startled a large white bird speckled with gray feathers. Letting off a pleasant trill, it flew out over the lake, then back above the western cliff.

"That wasn't a stork, was it? It better not be bringin' any babies my way." Mara laughed softly while she scanned the scenery for any clue to Eunice's death—or her blackout for that matter.

"That was a young swan. I see her around here quite often, in my garden sometimes. Swans tend to only bring love, but my dear, I do hope you’re being careful with your lovers if you're not ready to be a mother just yet." Mrs. Miller's concern was laced with an unspoken lecture that Mara thought she'd since outgrown at twenty-eight.

"Oh wow, look at this piece of driftwood…” She attempted to redirect the conversation, shuffling ahead. “It would look great in your succulent garden."
 
Bending down to pick up the stick, she noticed strange track marks in the sand, similar to the shape of a horseshoe. But rather than being rounded like a horse's hoof, these had edges and points. Like the webbing of a duck's foot, the edges draped with a concave from point to point.

Mara sunk her fingers into the track; its depth reached her middle knuckles. Whatever had left them was powerful and moving fast, she noted, eyeing the space between each stride. The tracks seemed to be coming from the water, then went west down the cove, crossing over the sandbank to where the cliffs tapered off flat again, a forest just beyond.

"Mara," Mrs. Miller’s voice interrupted her observations. "Why don't we start you on your own succulent garden? They’re quite hardy and would love the loamy soil you have at the cottage."

"That sounds like a great idea," she replied, spinning on her heels with the driftwood in her hands.

Mrs. Miller's gaze dropped down around her waist where she held the piece of wood. "Well, it's certainly an interesting shape, dear."

In her haste to pivot the safe-sex soul ties conversation, Mara had barely glanced at the random piece of driftwood: two rounded knots narrowed to a shank and a bulbous tip.

Subconsciously, she’d found a phallic divinity rod like a sign she needed led to the nearest dick.

Flinging it down, she dusted the sand from her hands and hurried towards the water.

"Nevermind. It's uh, covered in sand spiders."

"Mhmm..."

Joining her on the shoreline, Mrs. Miller handed her the wreath of flowers. As Mara knelt down to the water, the spray from the waves triggered a strange nostalgia for the last summer with her parents. Before she let it consume her, she released the flowers to the lake.

"'In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels... May we meet again.'" Standing back up, she rested her hand on Mrs. Miller's shoulder as they watched the lake lure the wreath away from the shore.

"That was beautiful, dear."

“Just something the Arkadians would say to send-off a loved one.”

“Arcadians?” Mrs. Miller’s head tilted with interest. “Like the Pelasgians? I hadn’t read of such a tradition.”