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
