Onslaught

My body breaks the wind's onslaught on the shore

Like a twig, rammed into the sand

Before a castle as the tide sweeps in.

The onslaught of wind upon mind is deeper,

And more thorough in its obliteration.

The thoughts and dreams of the day are swept

Away, and what remains is the calm before the storm.

Before as in preceding, in front of - standing ground - secure and anchored.

I feel like that twig before the castle of sand,

but unbeknownst to all my twig foot

Has extended twig roots and I'm firmly planted here.

The ratio of twig-to-castle seems to render defense impossible.

And yet... although the thought of ensuing battle is frightening

My eyes are becoming more aware of other twigs with twig roots...

Of larger twigs, with roots and shoots; of old oak trees

Whose twig-tips reach to the edges of heaven.

Suddenly my thin line of defense is consumed by the forest

And the strength of my heart returns.

I am not a twig, but a beloved daughter;

I am not alone, but surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, both dead and alive.

There is no castle of sand, but a kingdom of power and authority.

Our onslaught on the tide begins.