The old lady and the sea

In the cool of the evening, the beach emptied of sunbathers and holidaying families, she totters across the sand.

Stooped over, bent over, deep wrinkles furrow her brow.
Her skin tells a thousand stories, of life, of love.

Here, before the calm ocean, clouds tinged pink and orange in the dying light, she painstakingly removes her shoes, her trousers, her blouse, replacing them with a sea green swimsuit.

Her steps are small and deliberate as she makes her way into the water.
It flows above her ankles, above her knees, above her belly.
She lifts her feet from the sandy bottom and allows the salty water to hold her wizened body.

And like a fish to water she sinks beneath the surface.

Her crooked feet transform into fins, her knobbly legs become a tail.
Her hair streams out behind her as she dives deeper, breathing the relief of coming home.

And as stars fill the night sky she plays beneath the ripples, embracing, living magic.
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2 responses to “The old lady and the sea

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