Watchers

Solitary sentinels come to sit in the evening on the sand just before it slopes down to the surf. They sit alone or in pairs, each figure as still as stone, gazing to a horizon already swallowed in darkness. Where else in the world can one be so small? Where else is the creation so stunning, so immense, than at night on the shore of the yawning sea? Here they watch, one by one, each only one, yet part in an endless communal sigh. Where else does loneliness make such a crowd and manage to transgress its own bounds? Here on the sand at the edge of the sea is the silence that speaks, the stillness that moves, the blind expanse that illumes the day. What other place can receive our longing? What other space can comprehend our love?