Touching My Toes

Last fall, I had the extravagant gift of a couple of solitary days at the beach for my fortieth birthday.  My last morning with my toes in the sand, I was torn between wanting one more day~ sand, sun, quiet all around and feeling my family around me~ kisses, voices, limbs around my neck.  That’s no contest for I’d choose the latter EVERYtime but I couldn’t help but wonder what one more sunrise would bring.  I pulled out my little "40th year journal” a friend gave to me and started writing what I saw, felt and loved about the ocean.  I don’t know what exactly to call it because I am no poet ~ don’t know the rules even if there are any.  It doesn’t rhyme nor does it have a rhythm.

Nevertheless, I can’t wait to get there this weekend.... to hear the constant rumbling and roaring, ebb and flow of something bigger than I can comprehend.  The ocean always puts the idea of “me” in perspective.  A dose of that can never come too often.

The ocean far and stretching

Unreachable yet touching my toes

Inhabitants purposefully created

The invisible and the unapproachable

Its waters familiar and flirting

Yet containing forces, depths unknown

On my skin, salty and sticky

Remnants preserving and refreshing

The ghost crab, shy and hurried

Digging, concealing, and ever dashing

Forever wide eyed, measuring danger

but intentionally, never far from home

The sand, a bather’s nemesis

Or a carefree child’s eternal delight

A dull contrast to the sun speckled sea

Making my gaze all the more glorious

Its shells, bared to scoop, save and study

Holding a wonder of its journey to me

Scattered vintage treasures, displayed

From depths and miles, yet now, in my hand

The giant roars of incessant movement

A tidal body awesome in size, in life

On shore, in my chair, a mere speck I am

Yet Loved ever as the ebbing, the flowing

Today, the sea, a few feet from me

Unreachable yet touching my toes

Tomorrow, a vivid memory to keep

The ocean, far and stretching