Wrinkle in the Waves

Wrapped in a towel on the balcony she rests. Looking out at a familiar horizon she has to leave today. That goodbye is hours away, she is already mourning the loss. The loss of minimal threads, breezy dreams, salty swims. This second home has become comforting in a savory, cozy, wonderful kind of way.

Midway into the ocean there is a wrinkle in the waves. Past where the turquoise meets royal blue but not too far to be out of focus. The white ruffle in the sea disturbs the serine. Bringing dimension and curiosity, a known quantity of rocks perhaps or a bump in the earth. The tide has a hiccup before reaching the shore.

So does she. The journey is never perfect (or is it). Tossed about wondering which way is up, sometimes rejecting the notion there is a right way up.

Confidence is her sail, resilience her rudder. Uncertain when the wind will come, holding steadfast that, upon arrival, it is unwavering, forceful, fantastic, sending her to the next magical moment along the way.