A Poem without Words

A picture is a poem without words Horace

Walking along the bottom of the ocean at low tide is thrilling. There is a downward slope to the coast that tugs ever so gently at ones pant cuffs. Walking up slope towards the beach one can feel the pull of gravity shift as if it were an invitation to linger a while.

The ocean is the great recycling machine. Mountains are shattered to pebbles by the elements. Over eons these pebbles inexorably roll down slope to the sea. For millions of years the pebbles break down further until one day the sand is gently pushed up slope to the beach. Organic remnants are recycled too. Once animated beings die, disintegrate and wash down to the shore where a myriad of microscopic recycling organisms start the life-cycle anew.

I snap photos as I walk of whatever catches my imagination. These patterns etched in the ocean floor, revealed at low tides are fascinating. Try to imagine ten meters of water sitting atop this magnificent sand carpet with the blazing sun illuminating the undersea scene. It must be glorious. Truly it is poem without words.

Allow your mind to wander where it will go and see what images pop into your head. The creative power of the human mind is immeasurable. Drift through a few precious minutes today. Enliven your world with imagination.

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Published by cewheeler

Writer/Artist:12 years in China – univ. lecturer: writing,poetry,culture; editor – magazine/newspaper & actor. 40 years students of the Tao. Traveler. Father. Read my books at: amazon.com/author/wheelerce

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