A Metaphor to the Unenlightened

A story about imagination and what it means to be a family

An autumn day,
Me and him.
The wind whistles
As we run
From dangers real
And false,
But we laugh without a care
Loud and clear,
The sound of bells.

The soft sand
Warm and welcoming,
Safety from a fall,
Gives way to rocks,
Cool and slippery and metallic
And we slow.

Now we jump
First careful
To stay within safety
On the dry rocks,
Wedged in tight,
Now less
Inching closer
To the hypnotic in and out
Of the waves.

Now there is danger,
Slippery algae
Slimy to touch,
And wet rocks
Less stable
And unforgiving
In case of a fall.

But also freedom.
A certain risk.
And treasure
Hidden in the crevices
Forgotten relics
Far worth the risk.

The waves create a soundtrack
To our laughs,
A tribal rhythm
As we dance
With the ebb and flow.
The soft breeze
Chills our wet legs,
The salt on our tongue
From misty spray,
The raw deep scent of fish
In our nose,
The cool feel
Of wet rocks...
And I know I am alive.