AN INTERIOR LIFE JOURNEY by Sheila Webster

 

I declared this as my beach in ancient times.

At the end of a small southern Saskatchewan Lake,

I rest on silent silky sand.

Shorebirds call in twilight,

familiar languages I have heard.

Summer solace.

Often solo I crave 

the cacophony of nature

and silence of man.

The land is owned perhaps

by more than myself.

I don't see it this way,

in my interior life it is mine.

I brave bracken, weeds, old barb wire.

My own fears, 

and interior terrors.

To claim this moment,

of time.

In it,

I am - 

Past, Present and Future

tenses of myself.

The sand

and prairie wind

driven surf

are mine.

They restore my soul.

Like endless grains of sand

I count my daily gratitudes.

Few friendships

are sacred enough to share

this spot, but by firelight

in twilight I have.

Silent we listen

to the echo of ourselves

driven by the desire

for peace and perfection.

so is the interior journey

that feeds 

my writer's soul...

pictures taken June 25, 2021

Spirit Beach exists at the end of a lake

but in name only in my interior life