As I walked along the beach
The wind blew a salt-laden mist into my face.
The stones beneath my feet shifted
And made me stumble.
I looked back to the place I had come from.
The grassy hill sloped gently to the shore
Then surrendered itself to the sea.
I walked once more to the stone in the grass.
I pictured the house as it must have once been.
A lonely sentinel watching the waves of wind and tide.
If you stood on the porch you could see Cec’s house
Across the cove on the point.
I sat on the stone and let the grasses cover me.
We let the wind blow over us,
The grasses bending and I staying still.
I always come to the stone when I pass this way.
The stone that used to be my grandfather’s house.

©Karen Chappell