Waves splashing. Seas rough. Birds chirping. Softly. Quietly. Then louder as if composing a song. As if complaining … oh why so rough?
Now they fly. They soar. They meander. Still chirping high above beneath the sky. The white clouds embrace.
Waves calm down. Storm’s afloat. Passes by the outskirts as if to say, I’ll stop by next time…whenever that is. Behind it leaves weeds on the shore. Washed up. All aghast.
She Reads By The Sea
Book in hand she reads by the sea. Listening. Listening to the sounds of the waves. The birds. People shouting indistinctly in the distance. Soaking up the sun. Then softly covered by the clouds. Be still my soul.
Trees. Palm trees sway softly. Tenderly. Hear the birds call. The sun shines brightly against the afternoon’s wave.
The Right Time To Write
‘Tis the right time to write. To pray. To listen to the still small voice. Speak. Help me listen. Help me hear you. Don’t let me miss what you must say.
Peace.
