The Water’s Edge

On a warm, cloudless,
Windless day in early spring
We’re drawn to the water’s edge.
It’s been months since we’ve felt
The urge, the need
To pull off our shoes and socks
And roll up our pants legs
And feel the sun-warmed sand
Scratch its way between our toes.
The ocean looks flat and blue-black
With scattered patches of deep green.
It beckons us with soft, gentle, foam edged waves
That turns out to be a false promise
Of a soothing, cleansing caress.
The shock is not unpleasant though
As it sends a chill up to our eyes.
It’s a wake up call,
A reminder,
As our feet also feel
The sharp edge of broken shells,
The pinch of a blue crab,
And a rolled pant leg soaking sink-hole.
And a reminder of the stormy, windy days
With eight foot waves and rip currents
As the sea shows off its awesome, beautiful
The range of beauty and strength unfathomable.
But today it proudly shows off its bounty.
Sand crabs scurry and dig,
A whole nautilus shell left behind,
Draped in sea grass.
Tumbled shards of glass
Smoothed into “diamonds.”
Beauty. Power. Change. Promise.
At the water’s edge.


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