Everything washes up on the beach, sooner or later. Sometimes it’s old lobster traps and seaweed. Sometimes it’s worn out rope and old buoys. Other times it’s pretty shells of sea creatures long since dead. Sometimes silvery driftwood sails in from nowhere, looking every bit like the ghost that it is. The tide pulls them out, and the tide brings them in. The ocean deposits its treasures at preordained times, and just as quickly, it steals them back.
None of it is ours to keep. Even the stuff we keep isn’t ours to keep. Eventually it finds its way back to wherever it came from, and no one knows where that is because the tide won’t say and the ocean is silent. I may have left some tears out there once. I can’t recall now because when the tide came in it took everything. When it left, there was only saltwater washing up on the beach.
|Another temporary gift from the tide.|