Soft clouds walk the skies,
while I walk the beach
—we, in our own worlds,
walk together.
Sprinkles of rain,
tears of sorrow and joy,
sprays from salty waves,
these all commingle,
like thoughts.
The sun also joins
this conversation,
warming hands,
warming sands,
circulating all moist thoughts,
dropped to the thirsty earth,
back into the passing clouds.
Do I find my thoughts
among the clouds,
or in the spindrift?
Do ideas drift in and out
with the traveling mist,
in the passing storm cloud,
by way of fog and dew?
A complex conversation—
quiet, but more full of life
than my imaginings
can fathom.
© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen
