rj heller
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Catching Waves --Wind (a beginning)





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… the water slips through my fingers, cold yet warming as it flows. The smell of salt as it trickles past each fold of skin, over knuckles so bare, fingertips swollen with time, with grace. Wrinkled apparitions of what was perhaps. I think …
this salt laden gift, how far it has traveled? How many it has touched as vestiges of who, what and where flow from it, even while sitting in my hand.

I cannot comprehend it completely, as it moves and yet it is still. Waves saunter and pose waiting for the shutter to click. Wanting to remain in this instance, to be, to become part of something greater. Perhaps to simply tell a tale.

I then realize …
It lies heavy with story. The chapters unfold with each crashing wave and ripple of foam, all the while shore birds frolic in the cadence, fast walkers on the edge of time.
Here and there, and back again, catching waves as they roll in with a greeting.
Unfurl them selves with story

I watch the waves …


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