Chapel of Sand



Predictably, a love fest.

Baby toes were sugar-coated in fine white sand and elbow dimples were smeared with sunscreen. We sat in the pool till our fingertips were crinkly, and laughter splashed like water around us. Six children and four adults meant most of the time was spent on duty, yet the whole weekend was settled and peaceable.

No church service for me this Easter, not like last year's epic event.
This year a different me walked alone along a deserted beach,
and sang a silent song.


This year I stepped down an aisle of remembrance, in a synagogue of nature between the foam and the tidemark. I collected shells like glossy beads, warm from the ocean's hand and noted with sadness the polluted shore. I was stepping through flecks of tar and over torn plastic bags and bottles. It seemed so wrong, the offal of industry strewn over the purity.



To me it spoke of my concept of salvation.


As I stepped over blackened, torn waste pressed into the sand, and got myself a pair of tar-stained feet, I felt a sense of something beyond what this keyboard can translate.

Something of a tender love for a ruined and messed up world.


And it was good.


Fiona  – (April 27, 2011 at 9:01 AM)  

Gorgeous images. Beautiful words.
As always.
(That last image is priceless).

Morning T  – (June 16, 2011 at 6:22 AM)  

I love your writing Amy. Now I'm stuck in the vortex of your blog and I can't leave....help. ;)
xo~
T

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