The mist was blowing off the ocean into the hidden valley. I led my friends down the wooded path and pointed out matter of factly-“That’s where the unicorns are”. They didn’t believe me and laughed off my comment. But in the mist, I saw my old friends tossing their manes in the onshore breeze and probably wondering if this time, I’d brought people who could actually see them. Sadly, or maybe selfishly, I knew these friends could not. If they were able to, they would be in utter amazement like the first time I was when I saw their prancing white bodies on the black sand.
As my friends headed off up the hill to continue their hike, I ran to the unicorns, lost to their beauty, like the first time I found them. Their hoof prints were buried in deep half circles in the ebony sand. Their guttural nickering was almost as loud as the incoming surf. Five of them-one of me.
When I first found them, I was alone, as my husband decided to sleep in that morning when I got up early declaring my need to drive over an hour to the valley where ancient civilizations once reigned. I wanted to get in a fast hike before the rest of the world arrived.
So, I struck out on my own personal adventure saying goodbye to my sleeping children and my husband who, with good reason, decided to let me go on a personal adventure without a teenager telling me once again “Let’s go get some ice cream because there’s nothing to do down here anyway.” The entertainment of swinging on a hammock and watching the clouds chase one another across the sky was not yet in their wheel house of amusement.
I drove with my music on full volume. I could blast it alone today! Maybe I should have known something special awaited me today as I was in such a glorious mood of freedom.
I drove into the tiny parking lot, got out at the lookout, and took my time there. The cliffs were lit with early morning light. I took a deep breath and felt into the gratitude of the moment.
Then I started down.
The path into the valley is dotted with mini boulders and protrusions of old roots and rocks just waiting to trip up the unaware. Once at the bottom, the entrance to the valley is framed in Pinion pine trees, their needles creating a soft carpet upon entry.
The mouth of the river requires agility while crossing when its running into the ocean and beyond that you step off onto a trail marked with slate grey river rocks into the forest beyond.
Once I was on the trail that morning, the world got quiet. The sound of the surf was ever present, but the forest had a sound of its own-if you could actually hear what the sound of respect, humbleness and gratitude is-that’s what you can hear when you walk this path. Hand made signs remind you to care for the land.
No footsteps are heard on the cushion of pine needles built up over millennia on top of a solid substrate of sand.
I looked up from this path and that’s when I saw the mist rolling in off of the ocean and buried in that mist was the sound of deep throated nickering. The kind you hear when you feed a horse an apple.
I wasn’t surprised at first. Wild horses roam freely in a valley thirty miles to the north. They were brought into the valley by farmers to help work the fields and many went feral. They beg tourists for picnic apples and carrots. I have photographed their beautiful forms crossing the valley river as if in a dreamscape.
But this sound and feeling was different. For you see-this time the hair on my arms stood at full attention. The kind of “chicken skin” you get when someone tells you they walked through a cemetery and they sense they are not alone.
I knew I was being watched and the nickering and chuffing was getting closer.
As I walked down the beach, driftwood pieces crunching under my feet, I stared into the mist and saw what looked like a small group of white horses.
Until I saw their manes were made of flowing ocean mist and they had single twisted horns that resembled the rare yellow and red sunshine shells that are well known in Hawaii.
What was I seeing? As is usual when I’m staring at something beautiful and amazing, I reached for my iPhone. Upon seeing the device, I received an almost psychic feeling of “No!”.
I dropped it back into my pocket as if it had burned me.
What just happened here?
Before I could really process this obviously odd occurrence, I heard, “Follow us”.
The five mystical creatures led me to a driftwood shelter on the edge of the beach caught between the sand and the pine needles and forest beyond.
I peered into this seemingly simple structure of tossed wood and felt that this was the opening into something I wasn’t yet ready to venture into.
They seemed to understand my hesitancy in the face of the invitation.
I knew I’d be ready to do this later. This adventurous feat would have to wait a bit. That bit that happens when children have graduated from school and you lightly shove them off into adulthood. That moment when you can step into the maw of an epic journey and know it’s for yourself and no one else.
I would have to come another day.
I thanked the unicorns for the invitation into Magic World. I thanked them in a way that included the feeling of excitement that my life would one day be my own again and a tinge of sadness that when I could give a full body “Yes!” it would also mean that I was saying goodbye to being the, “Let’s get up and get you some breakfast” mom.
Walking down into that space within the driftwood cave, beckoned on by the unicorns to a place where magic awaits..it will be an amazing experience..one I’ll get to when I’m ready.
I waved goodbye to my unicorn friends as I headed back to my life.
They told me to come back when I’m ready to explore the unknown. “Ok-I will!” I emphatically said.
I almost sprinted up the rocky path back to my car. The sounds of the ocean faded further away as I ascended but the feeling of coming back to one day step into that cavernous space with those beautiful creatures had me giddy for the future.
You’ll know it when you see and experience it: a unicorn may appear.
