With The Next Wave

Liquid sunlight fuses with the morning fog rolling up and over the hills along the coastline. Inexhaustible waves bringing forward new objects. A young tail-wagging Reckless runs after seagulls. But an aging Ragged soon gives up the chase. Their paw prints erased by the incoming tide. What about my footprints in life? The ones leading to shame, all those places left; love voiced but goodbyes never spoken.

Sitting on this rock, Ragged panting at my feet, belly wet with saltwater. His tail limp and no longer brushing the sand. We watch a youthful Reckless…run…run…run. I am completely at peace within myself. No more the horror of midnights. The whisperings of the celestial tide. Those five minutes of midnight uncertainty. God nor gold could move me from this place, north or south. Here I remain; the wanderer, the adventurer, the gypsy in me spent. No more inns with green doors, harbours left, or ponies ridden on the carousel. I’m a man walking his dogs on this winter shore, treading ever onward with no history of my passing through.