[just some thoughts after spending a week sitting on the shoreline of the Atlantic. written about a month ago]
[p.s. i'm certainly no poet... this was just free expression]
the waves come and go. come and go.
with the consistency of a clock ticking.
only the tides precede countable time…
the ticking of clocks.
the passing of second hands and the like.
seashells roll. broken and chiseled and colorful.
what stories do they tell?
where have they been? how were they broken?
finding the needle in the haystack - that select one…
that is the game for the searcher.
the rain drops fall down - but when in the water - you don't feel them.
it's as if the ocean spray is cooling your head.
with consistency and trajectory.
whipping winds appear fierce but are gentle at heart.
something beautiful is on the horizon.
at dusk - just before giving up on the day
it appeared. bright and shining.
casting silhouettes and shadows
the western sunset; broken through
what was grey now full of life.
a long walk along the incoming waters.
warm to the feet. pleasantly mild.
footprints along the shore line.
every seven seconds, it covers the sand like a blanket.
growing bigger. pushing forward.
every moment is new. fresh to the senses.
an ocean morning, noon and night.
it comes and goes, comes and goes
and if you're not careful, you'll miss its point.
soak it up. soak it in. you'll regret it later when it's gone.
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