Mar 5, 2018
The old stone wall holds back the wild, running down the beach like a playful child. It was not built by machines with beauty in mind but with stoic purpose and hands and time. Stone by weighty stone and now a home to the marine generations, tiny lives sheltered from nature’s knives. We walk on either side to follow its path, and perhaps find the one who held back god’s wrath. You won’t come to my side like before, your tide has left that shore, pulling back sand and crushed shell as souvenirs, to mix with oceanic tears. The pummeled homes of tiny lives cut by nature’s knives, need patience and pressure to make rocks once more. Throw them to shore for one such as I to find and pick up for luck.