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Omer on the Beach

I stand on the edge of the shore, watching the waters roll in, time and time again.  

My feet get wet on the occasional swell, but mostly I just stand on the compacted sand, 

gazing out into the ocean 


It’s not a sunny shore, 

don’t be fooled


It’s the beach on a winter’s day,

windy breeze whipping my hair into knots as I pull my sweater sleeves over my hands, 

clutching them in embrace around me  


I’m waiting on something,

there beyond sight


While I’m here, I count each particle of sand

for each particle, 

no matter how minuscule to man, 

is a hallowed piece to this foundational puzzle on which I stand


There is science and there is wonder.  There is help and there is plunder.  There is planting and there is plucking; hurt and healing; dreams and reality; joy and grief; gratitude and misunderstanding.  

It’s a yin and yang.  

It’s waiting for the next roll of waves to wash in, not knowing what it brings to the puzzle (if anything).  

What eroded pieces of sea glass and shell settle in this season, 

what treasures and creatures,

yet too, 

what effervescent breaks 

retract empty underneath


Wait becomes an adjective

to the one that gazes,

or so it feels

rather than to be beautiful, 

delightful, 

tactless, 

prideful


She is wait

expectant

there is something beyond the land,


she is wait

expectant 

for the something unseen she’s yet to hold in her hand


✍🏻 Megan Powell

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