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| image: Tina Urso McDaniel 2017 |
The ocean meets me, calmed but not tame. This is not the sea, and yet it is still the sea. It has found its way to us. It has been here thousands of years, patiently waiting for us to collect on its un-sea shores. It presents us with a beautiful day, but wonders: will we ever learn what it is teaching us?
There are more who can listen but are there fewer who do?
Back in the days where it had to travel far and wide, transform itself into moving rivers, dry itself under arid skies to travel over waves of air to seek new groups of us, most everyone it met knew how to listen. But there were so few.
It settled into regular routines and waited. Waited. It waits yet, slowly rising in impatience, now withholding its gifts, now pouring them out in irrational stormy bursts. It feels it is breaking into pieces somedays; others it feels its heart warming to the passionate displays of fierce loyalty and protection, the small growing acts of simple attention and care. It can feel the changes.
Are you listening?
There are more who can listen but are there fewer who do?
Back in the days where it had to travel far and wide, transform itself into moving rivers, dry itself under arid skies to travel over waves of air to seek new groups of us, most everyone it met knew how to listen. But there were so few.
It settled into regular routines and waited. Waited. It waits yet, slowly rising in impatience, now withholding its gifts, now pouring them out in irrational stormy bursts. It feels it is breaking into pieces somedays; others it feels its heart warming to the passionate displays of fierce loyalty and protection, the small growing acts of simple attention and care. It can feel the changes.
Are you listening?
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