Communion

I’ve been listening to the quiet voice within. The one that speaks softly. The one that tugs and pulls at me when I am not paying attention. She likes nothing more than to see me come undone. To unravel the layers of work, motherhood, and obligation; allowing them to peel off my shoulders and melt away. She gives an invitation to tap into the natural rhythms of life. To pause and connect. To open my heart a few inches more, each time I say yes.

I drive into the beach parking lot. It is early and I am still sleepy. I park at the edge of the salt marsh and gaze outward. Pink and orange streaks sweep the sky in pastel tones. The sun is making her appearance, as she does each day, without any help from me. She is reliable and steadfast—a life force illuminating time and space—making me believe that everything is possible.

I get out of the car and lean my body against the hood. Flickering wings fly overhead searching for breakfast, soaring in silence, they swoop and dive. A fingernail of light penetrates the horizon, catching curvatures of the creek, highlighting creases where shadows no longer fall. The tide is coming in, I am close enough to hear the gurgling of the marsh as the mudflats welcome its return, absorbing all that it offers. In the newly birthed light, a figure sitting on a bench appears, watching, just like me. Another car parks several spaces away. A man gets out, nods, and positions his body in the direction of Mother Nature’s brilliant show.

We are here, us three strangers, in communion. Our thoughts our own, we share reverence in the quiet beginnings of the day, devoting time to witness. The earth turns, tides flow, and collectively we breathe. Each of these things are miraculous.

In this moment, I say yes.

2 thoughts on “Communion”

  1. As I was reading the description of your visit to the beach and seeing the picture in front of me I began to feel more relaxed and calm! Thank- you! Nicely written!

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