The smell
salty, sweet
an almost-musty
Grandma’s shawl

Instigating a wave of memories
both created and yet to be

Wise they say,
wise are the waves of the sea

But wisdom, true wisdom
is found in the tattered
torn and worn
yellowing pages of my Bible

Crags tucked just so
purposefully placed along a path
smelling of honeysuckle arbors

and echoing calls
of shorebirds
hidden in the briar

Rocks formed
and reformed lying
tumbling into the sound

Paving out the perfect path
between brokenness and eternity