a little cottage and a big sea.
in one, a part of my soul nestles into a place,
and drinks deep from the sense of foundness.
but at the other i lose myself,
exposed in the presence of grandeur.
yet another part of my soul is made alive
in the losing as much as in the finding.
in the cottage i can know and be known.
at the sea i am belittled and confronted
with the obvious: i will never fully know.
my soul needs to remember both realities.
i need to be comforted and confronted.
and when i’m humble, i can find comfort
in the confrontation. i can stand upon
the shore of a sea that mocks me
of my minuteness with every knocking wave.
and then i’ll make my way back up the sandy hill
lined with pink beach rose, to the little cottage
with the teal shutters and rough plank floors.
and i am found again.
sitting by the front bay window
while sun sifts through the gridded panes,
i look down the lane to catch a glimpse of the sea,
framed by the hedge and the trees.
just enough to not forget the tension.
and i rock in my swiveling, faded pink armchair
and smell bacon from the kitchen.
Comments