I am in love with the place I destroy each day, whether or not I am here. My fervor does not heal a heron’s injured foot, plastic cinching his talons. My longing for these ocean edges does not alter development or restoration. Rather, I consume life caught from the Gulf, the public wildness points, waves crashing as I fall asleep. Remains of marine creatures become ornaments, necklaces, or crowns. I fill jars with ponderous arcs and lettered olives. Layered mother-of-pearl now lives in the bottom of my coat pocket. I make jingle shell earrings and offer narratives for my post-cremation body. What is so wrong with making use with what is left behind? Dare I interfere with a nursery stump in the Hoh Rainforest? I know little of the ecology of my spiritual home. Inescapably exotic am I along this Alabama coastline. There is no line. The sandy parts we occupy are keys unintended for permanence. Still, I cry when given the chance to witness loggerheads boiling up from their nest. I pray for a pollution-reduced journey to the Sargasso Sea. What does reciprocity look like when I am caught in the net of our own making? Somehow, scattering my ashes over water feels like asking for more.

soooo beauitful and moving Joanna seibert The Rev. Joanna Seibert MD Deacon St. Mark’s Episcopal Church Emeritus Professor Arkansas Children’s Hospital and UAMS joannaseibert@me.com Follow my Daily Something email on joannaseibert.com
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