The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone’ -Goethe
The crisp top of each wave knows Winter as it breaches the wind. The birds shorten their bodies to it, ruffling in the breeze where they stand and the low Sun knows it too; it sinks a glowing amber disk surrounded by grey sky. The land is patched in whitest snow peppered in browned and grey foliage.
How do I know Winter? She comes to me at night in light too dim to see. ...
She fell poetically waterfalling over rock cliffs protuberances, in words gushing a million little rivers setting them free against their witholdings.
Time set loose all withholdings and gravity pulled the words out of her soul. And here, at falls, she broke apart into a mist, a spray, a white ghost of many tiny osmotic cells aloft, each one a replica of her hearts yearnings each one an evaporative memory of its own being and all she was and had were memories.
The journey starts with one small step. It is one step into the world Where the tides and waves all rush to meet at your feet as you walk In the sand on the beach’s shoreline, following endless words curled
On forgotten pages. Above all the endless noise, chatter and the talk Of those around you is where you begin to find your bearings. It is When you see the stars and you are away from the advice of a hawk
You find your voice. You want someone else to come fix and un-fizz Your life like the aftermath of a chaotic storm or glass of champagne, ...
One day I went down to the beach and lay on the cool sand, my ears heard it singing. Or maybe it was the surf, or the beetles in the grass. I closed my eyes and felt the vibration of its tenor stirring me to love, love, love, trust, or just awakening me to acknowledge it.
My bones sunk into the sand and rested against its language, their thousand pages of words telling me I am like them, and of belonging, and of god. I never prayed but lifted a mussel shell to the sun. I felt its hard edge against my...
The whale turned over in the spray of her own breath nearer to shore where the water broke among the shoals. It was a caressing in those undercurrents; a lulling into a reacquaintance to whom she had once belonged, so to whom would she return for she had never left her place of swimming to or away from all she belonged to and was sister to.
And, the beach was as much her home as ever, even now as she approached it, gulls flapping around emerging rock. The sea is louder here, she thought, the waves more turbulent in these ever...