Every Day

The fog rolled into the cape, diffusing old memories
across the shingle. Her feet pounded on hard sand
as it yielded a little to the storm of her running –
an escape and a comfort. She scans the shoreline
reading an unknown meaning in the stones and seaglass
washed up by the waves and kept down by her feet.
A rhythm building with her breath, as they catch in
cool air and drift out as the ocean retreats.

The original three words to start this poem were “memories, storm, seaglass”.

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