The waves foamed white, dazzling and brilliant through an emerging sun.
We were made whole again in the brief stillness of spent waves. The water fell back, ready to go again anew.
Oh boundless glory, oh Ancient of Days,
Oh unending anxiety, presage the end.
The Son is eternal, yet sets unceasingly upon furrowed brows.
And she is there always as well. The shadow of her figure followed the foamed waves. The evening sun set out far beyond her, yet she was captured in the rising and falling of the waves.
Tomorrow, she would be there, would be here,
Endlessly enticing and infinitely ridiculous.
In pain we will know our death,
In pain we were birthed, were brought forth on a plane of impermanence.
It’s fading, life is fading
Will we make it to its nadir in December,
Or shall the chaos that has been sown by those behind the curtain emerge again and send those unique to be stoned by those scared? And,
does it really matter either way?
I don’t know,
But the moment in my aching, destroyed mind of waves receding and the laughter and breezy duned-darkness of low tide with sun-burned friends is my heroin in the meantime. It didn’t last, and it couldn’t last. But it was for a moment, that moment was all there was for that moment.