Disappearing Act

I want to be one of those shimmering
stick figures framed in my bedroom window
under glass as they meander to the point,
quivering in the glitter of sun on waves.

Their dog trots forward to the high and dry
marker buoy while the other two straggle,
appear, disappear, appear in the play of light.

They turn shoreward and I lose sight of them.
I pull on shoes still gritty from yesterday’s walk,
head for wave-shaped rocks, pick
through barnacle spotted tide pools,
around boulders covered in kelp hair,
gulping Fundy’s perfume – gull shit,
sun-roasted dulse, tidal mud –
crunch sand, crush shells.

Behind me today’s footprints
will soon wash away
in the rising tide. I scan
the shoreline for the
window and hail
myself, sparkled,
splintered, a
tidal creature
a piece
of it all.

Written in response to dVerse prompt: Descriptive Detail

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

19 thoughts on “Disappearing Act

    • I miss big bodies of water, too, which is why I have to make regular pilgrimages to big lake shores or the ocean. There’s just something about gazing out over a long horizon and across water that is magic for my soul.

      Liked by 1 person

    • It could have been the west coast but for the lack of driftwood. Same wonderful smell, same kind of tide pools and screeching gulls, fishing herons. A soul place.


    • Man oh man, I miss the sea and the smell. I was with friends and every time we ventured outside I stopped in my tracks so many times to take deep breaths I lost count. They resigned themselves to slow, halting walks.

      Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.