Tuesday, August 12, 2014


From our spot on the grass
I can see our children,
barefoot on the sand below,
where the lake meets the beach.

The warm air whispers
so I fall silent, as if listening
for holy secrets.

We played catch in the
late afternoon,
laughing, making friends again
with a son and daughter.

Now they wade together,
ankle deep. I can see them
speaking kindly to one another.
And I imagine these small waves
are an ocean’s.

by troy cady


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