Even the fiercest wave can carry you home if you learn to trust its pull.

Grief comes in waves

not gentle tides,

but deep-water surges

that pull at the roots.

You can stand against it,

or let it take you

both are exhausting,

both leave you changed.

Grief is what we view,

based on what we can’t see anymore.

A tidal wave of loss.

There is also the grief you can see,

touching a different depth,

the kind that

requires another enduring perspective.

One that is received , with

or without permission.

Like waves laying upon a quiet beach,

the weight of water

is the weight of memory,

pressing against the chest

until every breath

is a choice.

When it recedes,

you find the shore altered

lines drawn where none were before,

stones rearranged,

driftwood marking where the tide reached last.

You learn to read those signs,

to know how far the waves can come

before they break you again.

And maybe,

just maybe,

you begin to trust

that even in the pull,

something is carrying you home.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

Every wave changes the shoreline and every change leaves a map. This series moves with the water and the wind, through the quiet ache and the slow return. The next current rises tomorrow, and its direction is still unknown.