The Shore

How delighful to lose sight of the familiar shore, to feel the wind in your hair
as the waves and water swallow up any land that held the eye.
New horizons to explore, new sounds, colours, scents to enchant the heart and mind.
Time flowing easily around the new boat so eagerly stepped on, a small suitcase casually
strapped to the boat's energy and new found trails and path.

As time goes by, the yearning for the well known lights of the home shore stir unrest
and a longing to turn the boat around, takes over any thirst for more adventure,
and when it turns out the road home cannot be found, the heart sinks as were it itself the boat.
Circles in the water, circles in the drowning soul, matching the circles under the eyes, that compete
with the salt of the water for tears, swept up in the whim of the winds.

A lifeboat comes to mind, as the old boat creaks and wears under time's strain and weight,
the shore might still be found, time and again, so it is thought, until it becomes clear the voyage
on the boat no longer may include the possibility of reaching the home shore.
Travels continue like a song, deepening the soul's reach and strength, acceptance
the boat's breath and sail, a rhythmic journey of courage under foreign skies and stars.

Only in dreams is the familiar home shore found, and laughter and joy of reunion abound.
Because even when the home shore is once reached again, all familiar faces are gone, tossed
to the wind and seas beyond, as home never really was the safe harbour after all,
but a dance of death only one step behind the boat you boarded so long ago, all smiles and hope.
In the end, the only kindness found is the one that required you to leave your name behind.


Trudi Ralston, born Geertrui Wilhelmina Desender.
July 28th, 2015.