winter's bone

My summer's were spent with at my grandmother's home at the beach and many a Christmas holiday was celebrated with family at her lovely home.  Two years have gone since my grandmother's passing and I still long for her presence.  Her spirit resides at the ocean and I always feel her most in winter, when the long shadows roam.  Sunsets still burn in the sky and light the phragmites like torches as they dance in front of the glistening ocean, the seagulls cry bringing me close to her memory.

“Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect. -And that isn't flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn't have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.”
― Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Photos by Corey Lynn Tucker Photography

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