by LJ Frank

Alone on a stretch of sand, no others in sight, after a sunrise drive, a brief encounter with the ocean, away from inglorious words, I glance at my watch, the meaning of age fades as the minute hand moves around the face, the chronology doesn’t seem to fit the biographical details, sentiments arrive and depart;

 My ears strain to hear the mystery, fortuity is not a choice, I vary, the measure of the second is over before it begins, it’s not a race but a tempo to savor, to listen to the waves crashing ashore and a memory not heard in ages drifts over the waters, I stop to share this memory with a seagull, knowing it was safe, she nods and flies out to sea, I breathe in the fragrance of flora;

 I walk, my bare feet sink into the wet sand, the mud squishes between my toes, I was told by a masseuse years ago that my feet were made to be bare and best suited to walk on soil, perhaps a trait of my DNA I suppose for my blood is mixed in countless layers, genes with primitive stirrings, so I walk a kilometer feeling a fresh freeze arrive ashore, an exotic bird searches for food, and I reflect on the solitude, the ability to reason my existence and to witness the ambiguous grace of empathy and love;

Within that ambiguous grace exists a question, where would lay the absolution of man if a Creator doesn’t exist, and in the margins of a manuscript, before Aquinas was declared a Saint, he already knew a Saint only exists if a Creator exists, words could strangle or give breath, and filled with doubt he wrote, we think we know…but have yet to discover;

 Life beckons and struggles – breathe deeply just once more, stay the inevitable, and the wind blows a spray of saltwater in my face as if to remind me of my temporal nature and my eyes ache for a moment, and I blink as an incoming wave washes over my feet – I feel the sensation of being.