The sea murmurs unceasingly. It has secrets to tell; old stories long unspoken – peaceful and passionate, playful and depth deep.
Here on the still shore I spend hours listening, watching, until the rise and fall of the waves slips within me. pulling the tides to turn in my bed as I rest and sleep.
I can sit, see, be and never feel the need to speak.
The sands are comfortable with silences, experts in the all of nothingness, little world-gems of rock.
A crab sits watching me watching, poised between flight and the endless abstract art of tunnels to be dug, tiny dunes recreated.
The sun sails by, regardless.
My heart has nothing to say because I have nothing to do but listen. All is heard, all held in this still point.