I drift with the incoming tide
on the shallow summer Strait amid slumbering beach rocks.
and pull toward blue shadows to read the swaying ochres
of sea grass
swollen over crusty greens
and golden ripples:
“Look! Over there … a woman washing her hair in the sand!”
The Woman of the Sea emerged, drier than the other rocks. I was thrilled to recognize her. She was natural, moulded, worn, and without a sound. The summer sea
will soon cover her.
I sketch she and the other rocks that merge
with the clay. I sketch the edge and pools that mirror the sky.
I step into the reclaiming tide through ridge and puddle
and touch her back. I gather driftwood and details of her habitat: assorted shells and sea grass.
In my sandbox I arrange stones in position like a model.
I began to paint her wonderfulness.
Sand, ripples, and lyrics lift her into how I see her.
Each wash and stroke brings me closer.
She is feminine and connects Heaven and Earth.
Woman of the sea, you may make sacred the earth. I see that you are holy.
You scatter the sands. You are the Woman of the Sea.
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