Yesterday, or so it seems, I was seventeen, swimming in the wide open sea, scouring the beach in search of shells and sea glass.
I wrote my name in the sand, and time and again the tide came in and washed away every trace; there was just a remembrance of my footsteps.
Yesterday, or so it seems, I was twenty-eight, kissed my first-born on his head, held my cheek against his own, as if forever blessed in that embrace.
Today, my youngest child is seventeen, rows in boats on the open sea, chases dreams that come true; we hang his banners like so much confetti.
I have no desire to retrace those footsteps or swim in those blue-green waters where I swam like a jubilant fish; sometimes, the current carried me, and sometimes I fought the tide.
I have crossed deep oceans, enjoyed the days of sun, and sand, and mystical beach music; the melody of wind and sea follow me wherever I go.
Still now, after all the miles of outstretched arms and kicking feet, the water sustains me, fathoms deep, sun sparkles on every wave; the light a source of endless grace.
It is still I, the one who stooped to lift a shimmering piece of ocean glass; I still swim, not like a mermaid, but steady strokes, breathing in, breathing out.
I search now for forgotten things, bits of my own driftwood, before the tide changes once more; I wait expectantly, all that rolling water, breaking at my feet, all that polished glass reflecting back at me.
*Psalm 95:5 “The sea is his and He made it, and his hands formed the dry land.”
