Down at the tip of the southern shore where the sea always flows as before the eyes of a searcher look far ahead but soon unwillingly return once again to where she started out from.
No grain of sand is exempted from the eternal movement of life’s restlessness but she is now anchored and firmly implanted at the point before she so longed for more.
Small puddles of water felt but unseen gather together like a minority group in fear of the onset of more disregard from the high and most powerful will of a mind.
The sun remains full and quite unperturbed, the sky like a model changes shades of blue, and the clouds simply hang unaware and distant as a means of remaining in ignorance.
The wind once still introduces itself and makes a wild statement of its own importance in attempts to distract and topple to ground the seriousness of the searcher’s quest.
And the eyes of the searcher flutter then close on the view she perceived beyond the horizon to assist in the machinations of fate and allow for the twist she now has to make.
Her movements are slow, tired to the bone of constantly turning north, east, and west, always searching and needing a good place to rest her beginnings and endings and in between's.
The next step like tomorrow lies in a heat haze and shimmers with mirth till she too has to laugh and she does right there into clear air and the eyes of a woman standing quite near.
But the nameless woman older than she remains in the shadows of insightful dreams knotting and unknotting the cords of a rope in the hope that soon she can fold it away and know love has reclaimed its rightful place.
Two women together will one day recall
that day at the tip of the southern shore
but until then the searcher turns, turns again,
while time runs away to the far corners of earth!
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