Between Silver and Gold

Sand on the strand is washed by the ebb, with surf's surges grinding each grain. I attend to rock and shell, crushed into colour, rivulets of microrojewels. Between silver and gold; I wrote our names, marking thirty-eight years as one and counting. Incoming tide will wash us out; but stranded, laid up together, watermarked into the sand, fresh patterns of silver and gold, reflecting, we are entwined while the moon orbits from neap to spring. Phased into time, we are ever the same, changing, as one celebrating.