Remember when it was just a stream between us, a narrow creek that we could step across? The water might have been a little cold, and we might have had wet feet when we met on one of its banks, but it was never really hard to span.
Remember times when it swelled into a river, when the wind would blow across it to make choppy little whitecaps clapping at the bow and throwing mist into our faces as one of us would paddle to the other shore? Sometimes I’d drift downriver in the current, but you were always there to toss a rope and moor me.
Remember when the river spread into a bay, and when the fog would build from ocean weather, blanketing the water with a fleece of grey that left us wet and blind, listening to waves arrange the rocky shores and calling back at gulls that plucked their fish from where the waters met? We often couldn’t see much farther than ourselves, but we could speak, and when we did our voices rode the drifting pleats of fog to let each other know just where we stood.
Remember I’m still speaking as I watch the tide retreat from here on this cutting beach, revealing salty pools were life is trapped and unaware that so much more is living all around. Remember as the ocean tide encroaches on your feet, pulsing inward imperceptibly and forcing your withdrawal, backing you away at a pace you won’t quite notice until you’re standing in the windblown grass and watching footprints wash away beneath the waves, remember that the moon will pull the tide away from you in time and when it does will push me back and let the waves erase where I stood too.