Hello to any of you who read this. I have several ideas to put to paper, uh, er, I'm sorry, to blog, but am rushed with things to do like relocating to Grand Junction, Colorado. So I thought the least I can do is share another poem with you. Barb, (A Chelsea Morning) and Bev, (Blessed Beyond Measure) and Mandy, (In A Minute) all told me to stop apologizing for not yet knowing the mechanics of computers and blogging, so I won't. Anyway, when I get to Grand Junction Barb will teach me. This is BEACH WALK. Certain and without a hesitation, reaching past infinity you seem constant, ever constant and enduring, older than old Egypt's ptolemies, who also mused upon a stretch of sand and are no more, still you proceed, scarcely noticing my clay caked feet, or prints they've made upon some unknown beach, but you with sweeping hand erased, and left me barer than when I was born. No legacy from long dead wealthy kin. No heirloom silver spoon with name engraved, no serendipitous brass ring to seize. Here on this dark and erie beach my feet feel cold. I seek a crevice or a knoll to keep me warm. But all around me ancient outcropped clifts, stately granite silent sentinels, stocially stand guard, ignoring me, And so I drift toward and touch the sea's Rhythmic water playing, pulling me, until I wonder, is it easier to go, but something somewhere in me will not leave. I struggle from the endless endless waves, and find a place where I can stand again, and watch as sand divides around my feet like hourglasses quickly measuring. I hold a spiraled shell against my ear and hear a faint and far off whispering, beyond the clamor of my discontent and my insiduous self-questioning, the windswept whorl of my deserted dreams.