Hidden in the Noise
Morning, still early enough hints of pink linger in the sky.
A gentle wind blows seafoam across the beach.
You are alone here, as you like it. You and the sea
and a troubled mind, in need of healing.
You smell the salt water. You breathe it in like balm.
Other people’s problems seep from your pores,
and you remember who you are.
There is no magic in it. We were not made for chaos.
This, not the world, is reality, too often disguised
and hidden in the noise.
About this poem
This one likely needs no explanation. The picture was taken in Rye, NH.