Soft rhythm of the waves.  Tide going out.  Halyard clanging.  Majesty of snow and ice that glistens through swaying cloud veils.  Small rounded rocks.  Sun heating my back.  Shadow of pen.

Barnacle berries, stubborn frost on stool-sized stones.  They seem to welcome the bejeweled wraps that cover their silent gray.  Shells littering the rocky shore.  Remains of beings still existing.  Scattered and silent teeth formed in waves with purple hearts amid rubble from the mountains polished by the sea beneath my feet. 

Surrounded by such a slow polishing, vulnerable allowance, open-hearted surrender to the shifting of sands and time.  I am exhausted at the thought of such stillness.  My whole being beats and throbs at the message to be unmoving.  To let the winds have their way with me.

Today I let Her have her most brilliant barnacle Way with me.