Unseen - Robin Church

painting of woman sitting on drift wood
Be Still - Image: Robin Church

Tender wavelets wash my happy feet and
the still soft sun kisses my
morning face in silent benediction;
alone except for crabs scuttling in
and out of their sandy holes,
alone except for pelicans looking
for breakfast,
alone except for the small striped fish not
the least bit worried about being trapped in tiny
tidal pools or pelicans.
I can see where
the beach dogs have been
rumpus-ing all night-
they must be sleeping it off now.
I am treasure hunting, discovering
surprises the sea has generously
left in my path, teaching
me tacit lessons about giving and receiving.
Coral and conch, clam and cowry-all salty whispers,
“Pick me… pick me…”
My last full day in paradise, I try
not to be greedy, culling
only what my hands will hold;
my heart must carry the rest, unless
it explodes in joy first.
Turning to follow my shadow dancing
before me, the water has already
wiped clean any trace of me and
the rambunctious dogs, teaching
me unspoken lessons about giving and taking away;
blue blending into blue stretches far into
infinity as I remember
last night’s stars singing their
bright delight,
unseen now in the light
of the closest one,
unseen as the millions of sea
creatures frolicking under the froth of
the rollicking water,
unseen as the timeless God always
breathing in tidal rhythm just beneath
the surface of my grateful awareness.

– Robin Church (my momma)

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