Postcard from Patara, and a bit of a poem

IMG_0243.JPGOn this beach sound and sand
We lay ourselves to rest
Kindling and basking delighted
By the lapping and dancing waves

Generations make their marks
as young engineers build playful fortifications
without calculation, fear or hope
of castles notwithstanding nature’s storms.

Meantimes, I chase shadows along the shore,
the sun on my back. My trace disappears.
Crabs sidle home and a fellow traveller nods
as we look out to another place

A far cry comes from the harbour, long silted and stranded
in history and imagination.
“Phoenicia?” the ship’s master beckons those piering their next horizon,
purpose and those otherwise beached and bedraggled.

Luke, a passenger, packs: a gospel for this new ark
with his two by twos, his hims and hers, his young and old,
his Jew and Greek, and Paul,
his complementary pair, a Turk on Patara beach,
where the sun shines after storms.

Acts 21:1ff: And so, with the tearful good-byes behind us, we were on our way. We made a straight run to Cos, the next day reached Rhodes, and then Patara. There we found a ship going direct to Phoenicia, got on board, and set sail. Cyprus came into view on our left, but was soon out of sight as we kept on course for Syria, and eventually docked in the port of Tyre. While the cargo was being unloaded, we looked up the local disciples and stayed with them seven days.

image has been blown up from photo taken with iPhone.



Sent from my iPhone

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