A Storm or Two Ago
A storm or two ago, the beach was pristine.
Perfect sand leading to a perfect horizon.
The stuff of postcards and memories.
A storm or two ago, there was no driftwood.
No rocks. No broken glass.
No shattered shells to cut your feet.
Today, the landscape is different.
More broken. Harsher. Less perfect,
But far more interesting, more real,
More appealing somehow than perfection.
A place of wonderments and stories,
each piece of debris, a tale, a truth.
And so you stretch on the sand.
You breathe in the sun and survey the pockmarked beaches
and wait for the next storm or two.
About this poem
The thing about storms in life is that they leave us either defeated or saying “I survived that one. I can survive the next one.”
And once we know we can survive. Anything is possible.