Standing at the edge of the Atlantic, waves roll in ever nearer our feet.
A fearsome roar of crashing water.
The salty wind teases the hair blown loose from my scarf.
There was an afternoon of wonderous splashing,
Laughing with the delight of a child tickled by the gentle ocean swells.
We spent every moment of the week together.
Entreaties from afar brought us pause in our quest for food and fun.
The anxieties of leaving our lives behind were well-founded,
But being here together was our calling.
We lit candles and prayed at an Orthodox shrine.
And let God answer our cry.
Tonight, thunderclouds roil in the sky above.
The water an unpredictable dangerous baptism.
We watch side by side our arms around each other wrapped in our love.
Behind us is the world full of sorrow and trouble.
The beach a temporary shelter between the ends of the earth.
Drops of rain drive us back up over the sand.
We turn and hand in hand run towards the bridge.
The path taking us back to our martyrdom.
The return home.
Syra's Scribbles 