Near Gdansk, Poland
Three Swans
Perhaps because we knew we were coming to the end of our journey, and I do believe also because so much had happened within us, Gdansk was a pinnacle, not only of my sense of internal peace, but of our sense of family.

We had very little food with us, and wouldn't be able to buy more because it was Sunday and the stores were closed. We parked at the shore, knowing the ocean was there, rather than seeing it. Our map told us, and the thick gray sky told us, it was over a steep ridge of steps and sand from where we parked our van.

We climbed the wooden steps, and there before us was the misty Baltic -- the first northern shore I had ever seen. I felt as though we stood at the northern edge of the world, that beyond the gray mist must be Avalon, or a void. And sauntering gracefully along the water's edge were three white swans.

I had only seen swans in sheltered parks, storybooks and zoos. I thought of them as ornaments, disguised gods or pedigreed specimens.

We didn't try to approach them. I can't speak for the others, but for myself, I can remember feeling as though they were a private group, foreign tourists who, like ourselves, were at the climax of a pilgrimage, and who's privacy it was natural for me to respect.

A wave of awe and gratitude rolled through me. Perhaps it was their splendid presence that sparked the sense of sacredness that fell, like the mist, over that hour.

We broke rye bread and spread it with mustard, tenderly reserving the remaining white cheese for the children. The waves roared so loudly we quickly abandoned conversation. After eating, we broke into smaller groups of twos and ones. Dietrich found a shallow hollow in the sand, the size of a small rowboat, and lay down in it, savouring the hour. Some of us discovered, to our great pleasure, that it was possible to scream and roar so loud our bodies shook, but the person right next to us could barely hear it.

After months of restraint, caution and whispers, one might imagine how meaningful a discovery this was. I don't know how long we spent running and roaring ourselves silly along that pale shore. We waved our arms, threw our heads back, stomped and jumped and pounced and ran in lines and circles.

Finally we six adults and four children gathered together and snuck up behind Dietrich, who was still laying peacefully in his sand tub. At the sign of three we all shouted as loud as we could.

Nothing.

Then after a second, sensing us rather than hearing us, Dietrich turned his head and smiled. We had to explain to him what we'd been trying to do, since he'd missed the pleasure of experiencing it.