Wednesday, March 19, 2014


The path up to the beach is smattered
with small salmon and lavender
wild flowers, patchy with grass.
I can’t see the water yet. 
I want to sprint
like a wild child but the ground is rocky. 
Flip flops off, I navigate the hill climb with my tender feet-feel.

The sky is pristine blue,
the air fresher and there,
from the top of the hill, the sea, the sand, sailboats.

Behind us, back over the hill we hiked, there is a playground
where we paid to park and I wonder why anyone is there
and not here. Families enjoying their Saturday and the nice weather
not interested in the beach.  I can’t imagine.

I stand at the edge, toes in
the splashed sand, numbed,
curling from the cold. 
It is not enough.
The waves roll in bubbling, spinning, soapy. 
I want to run straight into one.
Be enveloped. Immersed.  Cleansed.
Not wait to be met.

But I do not run.  I am fully dressed.   Grown.
So, I wait, grinning at the ocean.  Grinning at a God who made this.
They diminish before they reach
me so I step out further;
let the water rise
around, caress
my calves.

The earth churns beneath me, sand working
up through my toes. Each wave calls me further
out.  We are meeting.  In agreement.

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