A Day at the Beach

[Lynda Hoffarth]

A Day at the Beach

I sit on the dense sand with open ears to the ocean’s roar,
as it’s turbulence reflects the thought-waves of my mind.
First one thought, then another, until there are so many
that I hardly remember where the original one began.

These thoughts clutter my mind
like seaweed strewn over the beach…
dense in places, sparse in others.
At times it appears as if it has been cut
from curly headed mermaids, tangled from ocean currents.
It glistens from the reflective sun
catching droplets of the sea’s moisture on it’s plump ribbons.

But today the seaweed is strangely different.
The short, coarse, thinly fragmented fibers are entwined
with debris of past bathers…
Firecracker sticks, medical-like tubes, tobacco butts,
plastic shards off children’s toys…
as well as the occasional broken shells
that once housed the crustaceans of the sea.

Are these reflections of my mind?
Could I have allowed my thoughts to aimlessly wander
on a littered path of unconsciousness?

As I contemplate these things, I realize
when the mind is not perceived as a muscle,
clarity, focused direction and wisdom
can turn into an undisciplined child.

By Lynda Hoffarth