She Feeds All of Her Children

The sea, Mother Sea, feeds her children.  The vultures nibbling on crab legs, alongside the seagull, who wasn’t in fear for his life as he was still among the living.  The tiny, transparent sand crabs, awakened for the first time this week, out to feast at the table the sea set after the storm.

The sand appeared to be moving, crabs scattering at any threat from beachcombers like myself.  My friendly advances mean nothing to these tiny, fragile creatures.  They stop momentarily, surveying the danger I present and as I step away, I realize I was standing to close to the creature’s burrow in the sand and I watch it scurry in to safety.

The yellow butterflies have appeared this last day of my retreat and thousands take flight today and head northwest over the ocean.

The sea offers up food for minions, an empty pink tampon holder, not something she was happy about, tossed back up high on the beach as if to warn those not to pollute her again lest fear her wrath.

A playful young couple new to her power drop a sandal.  She playfully takes it and tosses it back at them as if she would really play catch!  They scurry to grab it.  I run to grab it as well, chasing it as it bounces back to her.  I stop short of her vacuous suction, knowing I am not a worthy opponent of this strong woman, and watch as she gobbles it up, swallows it into her wide, hungry mouth.

I laugh to myself as I watch the young couple stand at the shore waiting for their shoe to return again.  You weren’t quick enough my friends.  Next time, do not tempt her so soon after the storm she waged the day before on this very shoreline.

Does she know of the tempest that resides within me?  Are we sisters in rage?  Is there a mutual respect of age and wisdom and capabilities to stir up a storm on a whim, with a thought, or provoked by a memory?