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Vera Jane Cook

Vera Jane Cook

The Tides They Are A Changing

It’s unfortunate we cannot see the future, we can only predict it, or hope it will turn out a certain way. Days past are often haunting. I miss the Ocean, it smelled so clean, salty air that hit my face on all those warm summer mornings I jogged down the beach, my footsteps formed in wet sand and my feet so cool.

I never imagined I would be anywhere else. Don’t tell me the tide runs out and the friends I knew would vanish and my hopes would fall from my fists the way the sand finds the wind and leaves behind just a grainy memory of what it was.

I never meant to have it end this way, my youth remaining in shadows left behind my eyes, my passions shifting and changing with the maturity that ran out ahead of me, still illusive.

I am here now, so missing the Ocean’s familiar sound, putting me to sleep and waking me up with the sun, a friendly but fierce reminder that the day is new. I grew stronger, leaner, and younger in my dreams. I was someone else. Strobe light bars and friends with wacky laughs and brightly colored shirts, they kissed me. It was like that then … intensity was second nature. There was so much philosophy behind beer and pretzels and ghosts that really whispered in your ear, ghosts that tried to warn you.

I tell myself a story with a happy ending. There was no 2016 election that Hillary or Bernie could not win. The masses became smarter and realized that nothing was ever lost, until now. And me, I found an ocean, wide and far, with waves that ran to me, giggling like a child, all innocence and grace.

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