The Tide Will Turn

The tide will turn.

All my life it has been going out, taking everything precious with it, even the things that dragged their feet like stubborn children.

Years, years, the undertow has been roaring, sucking its teeth at the sand, spitting out beautiful shells, dirtying them and breaking them in the process.

And I have watched, bereft; my legs too little to run that far. My mind afraid of being swept out to sea. The cross currents have run deep, have made no sense. Waves have slapped boat sides and threatened capsize. Canoes have drifted sidelong to the breakers, moments from Eskimo roll.

I have looked in vain for messages in bottles, for evidence, for meaning.

Sand in my hair, salt stains on my cheeks. Or were they tears.

Driftwood piled up like memories in untidy corners of forgotten bays. The sands shift, the tides recede, the beaches change and age. But maybe I do not.

Silver hairs and even white, now. In place of childhood blonde.

Yes, it has taken years. But now it’s coming back. The tide has turned and I await my courtiers; wave on wave approach, recede. Approach, recede. They bow, they curtsey, they offer treasures, each more beautiful than the last.

All the nations have come to see me. Bearing on the seas their gifts, their jewels. Kings are come to my rising, and I stand; Queen of all I survey. Greater than the gesture of my majesty.