The journey called life.
Walk the nautical mile.
Go the distance, a soloist trek.
Beach comber is sifting the sands.
Sand is slipping through my hands.
Pick out the beach glass, blue is rare to find.
The journey sets out to sea.
Summer beaches are deserted by winter time.
A traveler's wife waits impatiently.
Trying to get back to where you were.
Finding what you lost is harder than you think.
I'm taking the time to take care of me.
What makes us who we chose to be?
Make choices and stand by them.
The perfect shell is at the bottom of the sea.
Richard Orszulak 1/3/2011