The tide is rolling in.

Sea foam bubbles like dish soap residue

The waves look black not blue

I wander and though the wind rages and I am cold 

I am alive

A maze of trees beckons me enter 

flanked by holly, a garden gate. 

I retreat

I am not here to trespass 

I fill my pocket with pebbles 

Pink, orange, onyx,
heart-shaped stones 

Gulls soar

Catching drafts of wind sending them
on haphazard flight routes

But where is there to go?

The tip of the shore always just up ahead

I walk farther south along the sun

There is nowhere else I’d rather be

Nothing else to do but breathe

in and out 

and bear witness 

to the glory of God. 

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