I built my house by the sea.
Not on sand, mind you.
Not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house.
By a strong sea.
And we got well-acquainted, the sea and I.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence
Always, the fence of sand our barrier;
always the sand between.
And then one day
(I still don't know how it happened),
but the sea came.
Without welcome, even.
Not sudden and swift, but sifting across the
sand like wine.
Less like the flow of water than the flow
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death.
And while I thought the sea crept higher,
till it reached my door.
I knew, then, there was neither flight nor
death nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling you stop
being good neighbors,
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breathe under water.
Myths and Miracles of St. Patrick
19 minutes ago