Life at sea

I am a traveler.

Wandering the sea’s since I was a babe.

Was born a few leagues away from the coast of Brazil, on a small island unknown to the destructive hand of man.

I travel alone,

Yet never feel it, because I’m always moving.

From the dry heat of Africa, to the Arctic like chill of Norway mid-winter. 

Was in Maine on Saturday,

The U.K. on Thursday,

Then made a round trip to Japan on Sunday. 

The waves were harsh last week,

I tried to buckle down and stay put,

But the currents rushed me.

Whisking me straight past Madagascar and right back to Africa.

The sand rolls hard off my already smooth surface,

Diminishing any remnants of barnacle or any other minor imperfections. 

Now I roam around with a soft tumble,

Never resting,

Even when the stars shone brightly enough to be seen from the bottom of this deep dark abyss,

Even when I saw the pod of humpback whales,

Even when I slowly started to rise to the top and coming up on a beach,

Smack in the middle of the Florida Keys.

I soon realized I couldn’t move.

I was stuck and it made me scared.

It made me feel alone.

                     .......

I ran away from papa as he started to count to ten.

The ocean waves slightly rumbled as the wind tussled my auburn hair.

I occasionally fix my pastel butterfly water wings.

I continue to run as fast as I can, the heavy salty air briskly slapping my bangs into my eyes.

I start to slow down when I noticed I stepped on something smooth and round.

I look over and widen my eyes.

A small round circle, about the size of the palm of my hand.

Its color varies from rich chocolate to a light and airy caramel.

I pick it up and fiddled with it, the fascination never leaving my eyes.

“I wonder what it is…”

My voice but a hush whisper as my papa ran to my side, the look of confusion knit on his face.

“What did you find little one?”

His rich baritone resonated in my ears.

I look up at him with wonder in my eyes.

“It’s a thingamajig!”

He laughs and my smile widens.

“No little one.”

He picked up my thingamajig and inspected it, I pouted.

“This is called a sea bean.”

He crouched down so we were eye level. I scrunch my face in skepticism.

“The sea makes beans? That must taste awful.”

My father gives me a smile.

“Sea beans aren’t things that you eat; they are things that wander...”

His voice deepens then trails off; his story telling voice.

“You see that bean, has travelled all over the world, from Africa to Russia! To south America to Ireland!”

His gestures where dramatic as he spoke, But I tilt my head.

“Where is  Africa and  Ireland…and Russia?”

“They are places far, far away from here.”

I imagined foreign lands… and my eyes showed more wonder then humanly possible.

“At first these little things are heavy, being moved by the ocean…but after months and months of traveling it gets lighter and lighter…”

I wait in anticipation as he regaled with this beans tall tale.

“Until it finally washed ashore… and it is said that when found it, brings good luck to the finder.”

I jump up and down and point to myself.

“I-I found it!”

He laughed once more as he stood.

“Yes, yes you did.”

I hold papa’s hand while I look at my new lucky charm…I give it a small kiss.

“I’m going to keep you forever and ever.”

My voice low as I whisper the promise.

My father told me we had to go and started walking, my steps soon sync up with his.

My smile never leaving my face as I walk…

But I swear up and down to this day, I heard a soft voice say the words.

“I am no longer alone.”