My Maker meets me at the beach and whispers to me in the wind. I always want to throw my arms wide and run into the wind, joyfully laughing and spinning as a child. I talk to the birds and marvel at the colors that are so much more alive at the beach. Every facet of the human heart is right out in the open the second my feet hit the sand...dangerous and wild, mysterious foggy shadows, deep longing and the thrill of living combine in a cacophony of senses and intuition.
In the summer, I love to sit in the dry sand, next to the dunes, and feel the warmth of the sand on my bare feet. I run my fingers through the soft and gritty sand, trying to see how many colors I can see in the grains that are caught in my palm. In the winter, the wind is bracing and the rain comes at you in sideways sheets. Memories always meet me at the beach; beach walks with my Mom and Grandma, watching my Dad fish in the surf, crabbing off the dock oh-so-long ago. My brother and I climbing, dancing really, over driftwood logs piled and stacked up along the dunes...whipping "sea onions" while meandering the foam water line...
It's too heady to put into words...
and even photos cannot capture all that the beach encompasses for me.
It is in my blood, I'm sure.
You could call it love, but I suspect it's so much more.
You could call it love, but I suspect it's so much more.
2 comments:
Why did you stop writing? I could have read this all day long.
My friend, the photos are beautiful.
This post is so you!
I'm right there on the beach with you, my dear friend! Your words draw me into your experience in a way that I cannot describe. So, when are we going next?
Post a Comment