MEGHAN Holloway
Author, Librarian, Researcher
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The tide was low at Naskaeg Point this afternoon, and I walked across several hundred yards of the exposed sea floor to stand at what felt like the edge of the world, the stout wind whipping my hair from its moorings, tugging and beckoning for me to ride its wild drafts. I always harbor this strange feeling when I’m walking across the seabed at low tide that I’m crossing the terrain of an alien, foreign world. I almost hesitate to take a step, because the crunch of the littered, empty shells beneath my feet makes it feel as if I were crossing a burial ground. The same feeling plagued me as I explored the catacombs beneath the Parisian streets. As if it were a sacred shrine to those long dead, and I was not meant to pass there.