We walk the beach,
She and I,
Not he and I,
Yet I feel a sense of peace at the ease with which we walk,
With my head held forward rather than downward
And a glide to my steps in less-than-perfect running shoes.
We look for shells to collect and I find a
Sparkly rock, whose proper name I do not need –
Now that I have located my own title.
We head back to the trail with our treasures in hand
And I know there are no more secrets,
Now replaced by smooth stones to collect and
My less-than-perfect running shoes.
©2012 Christy Birmingham