from out of the storm

Sometimes I feel like a beachcomber after the storm, pausing every little while to pick up the scattered remnants. Some are so broken that they may never be put back together. Some still lie unscathed in the sand, and look just as natural as before the storm.

There is a beauty in all things. Some shine in the light of day, while others can lighten the dark of night, with their inner glow.

The driftwood reminds me of survival, although sometimes in a different form. Grotesquely twisted into itself with its outreaching arms, it reminds us of other times and other places.

The rocks, each unique in its own way, differing in size and shape, none identical to another. Each one bearing the marks of pounding and rolling with the currents and tides, becoming smoother in time as they tumble with the forces of nature.

We are all changing…even the rocks, some because of the storm, and others in spite of it. There is a silent unity here, each left with changes, with our space on the beach and sharing a sense of belonging to each other.

We are part of a greater scheme. United, we validate the storm. In return we validate each other and our own existence.

FROM OUT OF THE STORM