This morning's story posted by minimum_wage gave me a pause.
Things wash up on the shores of our lives all the time. Sometimes wrecked, sometimes intact. Sometimes they rub up against us for awhile, then drift away.
Let the flotsam and jetsam rattle around your mind today and come back later with a couple of lines or a picture or poem. What's washed up on your "shore" lately?
What's drifted back into the cosmic sea? (Be well 8bit. Find your way.)
I washed up on your shore
and discovered it was a foreign land
and slowly
slowly I learned the language
of coldness
and distance
and drifted on
and washed up on another shore
where masks were worn
by all
I learned the language
of shouting
muffled shouting
hands on ears
I drifted on
and rode ashore on a wrecked ship
a tempest-tossed, Twelfth Night shipwreck
mistaken identities, disguise
a comedy of errors and silliness
it seemed like a good place to rest awhile
and wait
for the rainbow.