Our summer at the Beach is drawing to an end, and I am wearing life like a loose, cotton cover up; a sea breeze fills my lungs, salt water runs through my veins, my bones are made of sea shells, and my heart is an hour glass filled with sand.
I will carry this with me through the long winter to come.
Counting the grace gifts:
#0750 - sanderlings, feather puffs on tiny stick legs frantically outrunning the edge of the tide while hunting breakfast
#0751 - staring contest with crab who waits until i look away to toss his sand
#0752 - pelican sitting on the sea
#0753 - bubbling sand as the wash slides away, evidence of fiddlers burrowing
#0754 - the one-legged sanderling and the gimpy seagull
#0755 - brakes that hold
#0756 - lightning strike that brushes a loved one; thankful for the Hand that stayed the blow
#0757 - safe passage
#0758 - spending a morning on the pier, over the deep blue, and blown by wind until hair freezes in the shape of waves at sea
#0759 - mama. daddy. sister.
#0760 - the captain's chair
#0761 - husband's compassion and tenderness. . .always falling in love. . .with the same man. . .over and over
#0762 - opening ceremonies, fish and chips, Kenneth Brannaugh quoting Caliban, and a fascinator made from a wreath of aritificial ivy and a wooden seagull. . .laugh 'til i cried
Counting with the Community at. . .