as i walk along the beach i smell the sweet salt air, i see the scattered pieces of wood, washed ashore after floating for years and years, as i wander along i imagine that this drift wood has floated for years upon years, maybe it was a part of an old viking war ship. Maybe this ship traveled here to America years before columbus. maybe this ship carried pirates, who attacked at sea. robbing the rich and condemning the poor. maybe this driftwood has floated from africa, on an old ship carrying slaves. maybe this wood was used as a weapon in a revolt, causing the ship to sink. Maybe this wood is a piece of a ship docked at boston harbor during the tea party. a piece of a crate broken open by our people. or maybe this wood simply fell off of a barge, strolling to sea to dump it's unwanted cargo. I like to think the last one is not true, I want to think this wood led a noble life. I like to think one day it was special. Now it is just another piece of driftwood, strewn along the beach for some tourist to take home. Or some lifeguard to throw out. No, Not this drift wood. This wood is returning to the sea, to finish it's jounrey. maybe one day this wood will return to the beach again, with more stories to tell. or maybe it will sink like the majestic ship i imagine it has come from. So i bid it farewell and toss it back out, to a sea full of wonders. and i wander on down the beach, smelling the salt air, feeling the water and sand slip thru my toes. I think once again of my driftwood and where it might go, I smile, and continue on my journey.

Driftwood