Being called by country

There is a beach I used to walk on a lot when I was growing up.
Each year I would hear the beach calling to me, or maybe it was the mountain above which cast its shadows on the sand.
My feet knew when they walked on the sand that something was talking; my heart knew to listen.
The feeling inside me grew; it’s still growing.
Sometimes, there’s a song in my heart that’s so loud, I feel like I’m going to burst… when I’m on that beach.
One time I was floating in the sea, looking back at the beach. I felt weightless and free. Another time I stood and watched the clouds pouring through the gap in distant mountains. Another story was being told, one from the east.
If I lay down on that beach and never got up, I think I would become the sand. Maybe the waves would wash over me and reflect an image of the mountain, the one that whispers stories to my heart.

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Filed under Poetry, Walking

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