All those moons ago I plucked a stone from shore and whispered my intention with each waxing and waning. I took it back to the sound today, intending to sing a final goodbye before casting it far into the waves. It sparkled in the spring sun then slipped from my fingers into the sludgy low-tide pool of barnacles and gooeyducks. I simply walked away and watched the gulls drop oysters, fighting over what belongs to whom.
The waves will carry the stone to sea the same way the green has returned like the green in me. A gentle and abrupt easing - A slip out to sea with the tide.