I know …
the tide is receding, when I find lines drawn between sand and sea.
they chronicle time
or memoralise life, between the lines.
The sea may leave a sprig of foliage. An oasis, when you least expect it.
Sand from far away places.
Tiny shells, from who knows where.
I catch a glimpse, a fleeting glimpse, of sand in the making.
And, as the tide leaves, I become more conversant with the language of the sea.
Until next time
a dawn bird