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 betweens.
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.
(Photograph by Frank Bennett, New Zealand)
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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