I walk this beach each morning,
Leaving footprints in the soft sand,
Prints indistinguishable from anyone else,
Easily erased by the next surging tide.
Others will walk this glistening shoreline,
Never knowing I was here.

A timeless sea stretches before me,
And I am dwarfed by its vastness.
I search for answers in the boiling surf,
Envious of the waves for their travels,
Covetous of their freedom to wander.
The crashing surf whispers within the wind,
And urges me to move forward.

The wind caresses my cheek,
Chiding me gently.
My place is not here.
I longed for the peace of this sheltered anchorage,
Now I ache for the excitement of contesting the wind and spray.
I miss the crack of filling sails,
The halyards taut as bowstrings with the morning breeze,
The spinnaker billowing as I run downwind.

When I was exhausted, I yearned for rest.
Now rested, and I know I must move on.
I've learned respect for the elements,
By pitting myself against them.
The effort drained my strength,
However, the contest rewarded me.

A tempest rages beyond that tranquil horizon
While I languish in this sheltered harbor.
I must be patient.
Other seas and other storms will come my way,
And I will sail again.