barnacle & sand

I am a visitor tonight

on the gritty, salty terrain

where sea and earth meet.

The ancient, calcified surface

does not yield to the weight of my stride

like the soft, smooth soil that I'm used to. 

At most, it cracks & clings to the nearest element 

to become yet a stronger version of itself. 

After walking in vain search of a comfortable place to sit

& squatting periodically over the rough terrain for rest,

I decide to sit in the rubble.

Dense layers of broken
rock, barnacle, sand, & shell
dig into my sits bones.
I'm surprised that,
after a few shifts & squirms,
I'm relatively comfortable.

In the distance, I see a solid line of mountains rising

into distinct purple silhouettes 

as the sun falls to its slumber behind them. 

Between us are quiet waves rocking on top of 

a bellowing, salty sound.

The site before me is breathtaking

and overwhelming. 

To ground myself,
I draw my attention back to the earth beneath me.

I take a couple of slow, deep breaths

and feel the salty air kiss the back of my throat.

I begin to notice more details of the earth beneath me.

Dark green seaweed draped across bright white shells.

Rough, barnacle edges attached firmly to smooth, rock surfaces.

Black shells clumped in wet sand and clenched shut

in a futile effort to survive the lowering tide. 

My attention spans out again,
and I try to comprehend the complexity & harmony of what I see.
What I know is that,
from mountain to sea to barnacles below,

the elements are alive, resilient, and
composed purely of history and story.

I am a small passer-by in this story.
My body was born of this earth

and will return to it. 

I am dust, barnacle, sea, and mountain. 

I am nothing, and I am everything.