Always there is the sea Constant Throbbing Churning Sea Blue and green and salty. Fresh, powerful, alive. Then I came. Deep breaths and footsteps Temporary visitor at first Then resident But never leaving a mark. First it was me, then she and me And the always constant, ever changing sea. Together by the sea A chance meeting, then conversation Love following Blooming love amid the sand roses Then we were three By the sea, constant, ever changing. Our footsteps never leaving a trace Washed away leaving but memories to stay. Little hands grew larger Then we were four By the sea. Aging hands, growing hands, together Walking and playing, smiling and remembering Other days gone by and days to come As we walked by the sea. Soon we were five Making footsteps in the sand Hand in hand Drawing stick pictures Leaping shallow pools Collecting shells and mussels By the constant, ever changing sea. Sunday by Sunday Like ice, the days melted away But remained frozen in our memories Days filled with sun, surf, sandwiches Moment by moment Pictures taken for the family album Captured our lives By the sea. Then we were four Staring out at the sea On a gray September day Standing by the lifeguard station Where our first born had worked all summer. Out the door Off to college Missing his presence Wishing he were with us Looking behind as we walked One less set of footsteps in the sand. One less pair of hands We stood By the constant, ever changing sea. Two years have passed. Sometimes we still leave five pairs of tracks In the sand But she and I know Soon there will be but three sets Then there will be but two As we walk and remember By the sea. And we'll laugh And we'll taste the salt Of our tears When remembering Our joyous three children By the sea, the constant, ever changing sea. I can't pause to ponder the day When only one set follows the shore Be it she Or only me Alone Leaving one set of tracks Until the next tide Washes them away By the sea.
Reason for writing:
The joy and pain of seeing my children entering adulthood. The void created by the empty-nest. Boxes of old toys in the garage attic. Love.
Birth sign: Not entered
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