{ there will always be this }

a friend and i make a habit of making an unlikely beach scene in a town just east of the city no matter what the weather. we get up at 4am, streak past the earliest morning light between skyscrapers and ride the streets of a small college town before the used bookstores are open. in fact, the only thing open on the outskirts of this town full of brick houses crawling with ivy is starbucks. thank heavens.

often the sand we stand on is cold and hard, not yet kneaded by the feet of those bold enough to swim when there's still a bite in the still morning air. somehow though i can never keep my shoes on. sand was meant to be walked on barefoot. end of story.

as the sun rises and warmth spreads across the glorified sandbar bordered with rough grasses and a makeshift volleyball court, more people come, but we don't say a word. we sit in silence staring out at the suburban sea. we fall asleep and use purses as pillows. we read and dream behind sunglasses. we are two revolving planets in the same galaxy, but we do not reach out or establish contact. we don't need to.

because the great fire in the sky has transfixed and transformed us both, and it's a silent comraderie we both know is too sacred to burden with anything but the moments themselves.

there will always be love, and remembering

and the way things were before. but there's

always the other side, the side you haven't

seen yet, the hand held out to lead you forward,

the voice sent forth to call your name . . .

{ s.r. }