Sitting on the banks of the Roanoke Sound watching the shoreline disappear, relaxed and content by the lapping of the waves and soaking in Mother Nature's Vitamin D, I watch a lone bird, without a care, pecking the dampened sand searching for food. Waves are approaching and not a flinch.
I instantly think of Wesley and how I wish he were that bird for he could have risen up on wings, away from the ocean waves to safety, that fateful day. Instead, he rose up into God's arms and soars among the angels; the angels, no doubt, who keep watch over these glorious
Outer Banks of North Carolina.
How powerful this water.
How beautiful this water.
How unforgiving this water.
How treacherous this water.
Yet my adoration for this water remains unconditional.
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