focus

words + photograph by Robert Craig 

focus-poem.jpg

The wind is sharp. The smell of salt and sea. We cut through the dunes and the grasses hiss in the wind. The winding path is well worn from years of travel and traffic, but this morning we have the beach to ourselves.

Down by the water, the sand is packed and firm from overnight rains. The outgoing tide has revealed pools and pockets. I undo the dog’s leash and she is free. There she goes. This temporary backyard is pungent and pure. Soaked with wild. 

I exhale. Troubled minds are washed clean. Clarity for miles.


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poemKaren CoveyComment