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 am not here to trespass
I fill my pocket with pebbles
Pink, orange, onyx,
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.