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Adams Ale Sarah Crucilla Loneliness is a state of mind that someone reaches when they lose all hope,

all fear, all emotion. My goal in this writing piece is to tacitly explain the differences between being alone and feeling lonely. I want to capture the candid, emotional experience of being faced with something larger than life and feeling small in comparison. I chose to use a mysterious, hypotaxic sentence structure to portray levels of emotion. Moreover, each word I use is selectively chosen to express my feelings. The ocean is described like a lady to show its nurturing nature, contrasted with the jagged peaks, which are there to portray conflict. With an irriguous breath, the morning opened its shades. Little droplets of water, gray in form, came together, like two friends. The little circles fell from the tip of tall, moss-covered trees onto a little, 4-person tent. My eyes began to flutter. With a shiver, my arm hairs stood erect. I didnt need a beep of an alarm clock to wake me up. It was around 6 AM and the ocean was calling me. The misty morning embraced my face as I daintily stepped over sleeping souls, exiting my temporary home. Life just began to stir. A banana slug, long in its yellow form, meandered across the sandy ground, taking my eyes with it. Its graceful form glided, enjoying the pure simplicity of the still earth. Ash and smoke lay scattered around the fire pit from our smores from the night before, which were still sitting in my stomach. I clenched both my fist and my teeth. I didnt want anything to inhibit me from feeling the kiss of the ocean before the spit of humanity would be on my back. My feet carried me to the top of a fallen birch branch, bleached by years under the suns watchful gaze. I caught my first glimpse of the Pacific for the day. My soul was sold to her majestic grace; my body was within the holds of her golden hands. A veil of fog left the jagged peaks of silver stone resting in pools of water. Their luminous presence, just offshore, consumed my mental being, mocking my existence, beckoning me closer. I climbed further over the trees. Tibetan prayer flags flew from the top of the tallest one, welcoming us into the campsite. One of my instructors brought it with her from when she visited the Himalayas the year before and danced within its high peaks. I do not necessarily believe in their myths of hope, but they did serve as a good marker as to where the campsite was relative to the long, hazy beach. The water lapped up against the shore, in a cyclic, rhythmic pattern. Tentatively, I listened to its song. The wail called for me, and, like an automaton, I moved towards it, allowing at first my toes, then my feet to be submerged by its salty presence. Ocean spray moistened my windbreaker, leaving little circles of white salt where it evaporated. Though it was condemned to go in the ocean by my instructors, my feet kept walking deeper into the frigid water. The drenched land melted away with each footstep. The tide was slowly going down, exposing more and more of the secrets of the shore to my eyes. Out about 100 yards from where the waves crashed lay a little rock formation dotted with beautiful shades of violets, tawnys, and golds. It was visible not like this when I first walked out. With light steps, I ran down the beach, with my hair in flight behind me.

As the wind rushed through my hair, my mind drifted in circles, dwelling for a time upon the song Mr. Brightside. With a crackle that I could not prevent, the words flowed out of my mouth and quietly floated around in the air around her majestic grace. But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me open up my eager eyes In my ignorance, my foot caught a rock, sending my frame tumbling into the churning water, as calmly as a bird, I torpetoded my head out, looked around to ensure that no prying eyes would glipmse, and when I was satisfied, exhaled, with a smile, the last lines of the song still on the tip of my tongue. Cause Im Mr. Brightside. Soon, I emerged on the little island, which was now more of a peninsula because of the receding water. On its murky brown walls lay hordes of starfish sitting front row listening to the oceans symphony. With a wet finger, I slowly approached the nearest one. My finger lay on its spiny, prickly surface. This was a novel experience. Sure, I had seen these majestic creatures in the touch-tanks at aquariums, but never in the wild. Their perfect star shaped body was almost unreal to my nave eyes. They lay, indolently, forlorn on the rocky shores of heaven in silence, yet unlike the captive ones, they seemingly smiled as they breathed in the wild breath of freedom. More carful, yet faster than my commencement, I scampered out. I did not know how much time I had before someone else would wake up, and I wanted to experience more of the beach for myself. I began wandering among the rocky shores. Each pebble that lay upon the shore was a tiny story or prayer from another time and place. No one human being has time to honor them all, or enjoy all their pretty colors. But, they were always there, just another fixture of the ocean that drew you in. Another girl on this trip, with her blonde hair shining in the sunlight of the day before, picked up a black rock and declared that it was a wish rock. In that same sun, each one of us proceeded to find a little pebble with a continuous white band around its center. I looked for an analogous one today. My wish would be my contribution to the shores of plenty. As the water receded, a little orange sparkle caught my eye. Back at the campsite, the instructors drilled the Leave No Trace policies of the Olympic National Park into my brain. As those environmental policies were crawling around my head like a termite, I chose to suppress the idea of following them. I had just laid my eyes on one of the most beautiful stones I had ever seen. It wasnt a wish stone, but it was something more. My fingers touched its smooth surface. I placed my nails inside of each groove, feeling the places where the ocean scarred it, and the placed where it wiped old ones away. Its stark orange color matched the color of a storybook starfish. Along the shore I walked farther away from the campsite, tentatively was replaced with a zealous passion that burned through my soul. She was there to listen and to comment back with her caresses of cool water. I could think, and she would answer. After the bottoms of my feet were worn and my soul was completely gone, I plopped on top of a large, white rock and just watched. That could be enough, sometimes, just to look upon something with a silent mouth and vocal eyes.

I was wrapped up in this wonderworld that I could not decipher the footsteps behind me from the rest of the sounds. I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, a brown-haired boy I knew stood behind me smiling, shattering my world. Good Morning.

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