My body breaks the wind's onslaught on the shore
Like a twig, rammed into the sand
Before a castle as the tide sweeps in.
The onslaught of wind upon mind is deeper,
And more thorough in its obliteration.
The thoughts and worries of the day are swept
Away, and what remains is the calm before the storm.
Before as in preceding, in front of, standing ground, securely planted; anchored.
I am that twig before a castle of sand,
but unbeknownst to all, my twig foot
Has extended twig roots
and I'm firmly planted here.
The ratio of twig-to-sea seems to render defense impossible.
And yet... although the thought of ensuing billows rolling in is frightening
My soul becomes aware of other twigs with twig roots.
Of larger twigs, with roots and shoots; of old oak trees
Whose twig tips reach to the edge of where clouds rip
Across the grey sky.
Suddenly my thin line of defense is consumed by the forest
And the strength of my heart returns.
I am not a twig,
I am not alone.
We are one.
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