This: warm air, salt-water spray, toes digging into wet grit sand pebbles turquoise water across grey shoreline, laughter, sea treasures pocketed and held between fingers rubbing against smooth shells and rounded stones, tangled hair and wind and “try this” glowing light of peaceful connected love.
(But the slambam busy-ness of life has thrown me off my creative trajectory. And all the words I want to string together to tell a story have to wait.)
Except — this happened.
So. (Pause and sigh; so.)
Tonight I am deep breathing and reminding myself that I will remember. And the story can come in chapters. There’s no hurry.
And as long as the heart doesn’t forget, all will be well.
a request, please ~
All art, photographs and writing on this site are © martha lee phelps, unless otherwise credited. Please do not reproduce or borrow original materials from this site without permission.
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