Atlantic Beach

For Merrill’s prompt for dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday – Nature, lost and found

Atlantic Beach
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Anthony Bourdain

The ocean waves go in and out with a soft shushing sound. It is just after sunrise and the tide is out. I walk along the strip of shells and seaweed left behind as the tide went out. I look down carefully, trying to spy the rare shell or sand dollar that floated in over the top of the detritus. Gulls wheel overhead and dive down occasionally catching a fish. Into my bucket it put a couple of Atlantic boats, some pencil shells, a rare whole scots bonnet, and a moon shell. On top of the pile, I gently place three sand dollars, whole. After half a mile I sit down to take a rest and drink from my water bottle. I am proud of it because it is a vacuum bottle, bright purple, and not plastic.

Watching the tide come in is exciting. The waves thunder in and the soon the water line is at the bottom of my feet. The line of shells and other items become caught in the waves and washed out to sea. I move farther up on the beach. The sand is golden and cool from the night and the sea oats wave in the breeze. I think about things sitting there. The sky is purest blue and the water deep green. I finally stand walk back the way I came. This is truly magic, this ocean. No one is around to disrupt the not-silence. No houses, no hotels, no piers. I stop and pour my shells back into the ocean. Who am I to keep these gifts that I am so unworthy of? Let them be gifted to one more worthy than I.
early morning –
gifts returned gratefully –
ocean accepts them

 

Faded Landscape

This is for Poets United Midweek Motif – Color.  It will also be posted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

Faded Landscape

The second day of spring is
a faded black and white photograph.
Shades of grey, black, and white –
No red from the rising sun,
No yellow from the huge forsythia bush at the edge of the woods,
No green from the pines and cedars.
The light was softened, almost blurred.
Snow is falling,
silent and still is the air.
From down by the creek in one of the large oaks
a soft hooting broke the silence.
I stood in the cold and looked
at the trees and the snow that fell.
In the yard,
a Japanese plum tree blooms –
soft and barely pink.

copyright kanzensakura – not a black and white photo

%d bloggers like this: