Part 3

Eventually, the roots and moss and dirt give way

to driftwood and damp sand and shells.

We stumble onto the beach, blinded

for a moment by its beauty or the bright

summer sun. Our breath stolen by sweeping

cliffs and the crash of waves or by stinging

winds. Wild garlic a distant memory now;

Sea salt is king here.

Settling on our cheeks and slick coating

our tongues. The taste as sharp and wild

as his currents and as untameable

as his rage.  An intoxicating taste,

that draws me in until I am waist deep.

I take a breath and succumb to the waves




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