A Visit With Mother
Playing with the ocean is a high contact sport.
Wrestle a wave, expect
to be tackled, lifted up, tossed aside,
waves sprinting and jockeying each other to shore,
cresting, swapping twelve-foot high fives.
Boys tag icy waves; cries of surprise
compete with seagulls. A toddler in pink totters toward
starlings holding their convention on the sand.
Her face beams as she waves to each bird.
You cross dry sand and it swallows your toes.
The wind slaps and pushes,
scrubs your face, bleaches your mind.
Your eyes sting and weep in the salt air.
You do not come to the beach for tranquility.
You do not come here for shelter,
but to absorb ancient energy,
feel the rhythm of waves in your blood,
swing on the tidal pendulum,
submit to the scrutiny of the bald sun,
gaze at the horizon melting into thousands
of miles of nothingness and possibility.
You come to release your illusions.
–Kathryn Harper
Beautiful realization. The rhythm is your rhythm, the wind is your breath, the ocean is you.
Yes, receiving letters from Mother…reminds me of a story I once wrote, “Sending Letters to Mother.” I’ll send it to you if you like.
Janet Grace Riehl, author, “Sightlines: A Poet’s Diary”
http://www.riehlife.com
nice one.
Writting is a beautiful gift. Thank you for sharing.
The ocean is a powerful magnet, to me I have always thought we grow in the wombs of our mother incased in water. We are compelled to return to water, for me that is the ocean in all it splender.