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