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 Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| I wrote a little poem about an unusual place, over at Express It in Eight. I chose a beautiful beach made from trash. All true. "Re: EIGHT - 09. 23, 24, 25. 26 .25"  It's about a real place in California that was originally a dumping ground but the ocean turned the broken glass into a beautiful beach that is now a huge tourist attraction. Of course, the tourists keep stealing the smooth, sparkly pieces of glass, thereby ruining the unique shoreline. And I got to thinking... Have you ever wondered how deep the ocean would be if it weren't full of sponges? |
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