Mine (for lack of a better title)

Gnarled wood lay sprawled on every browning lawn. Debris and rubbish scatter the streets of New Jersey. Dedicated residents, determined to help after a hurricane, comb the neighborhoods for people in need of help. This is teamwork, recovery, and the time to push aside our differences to help others with their problems. The damage on homes and towns can slowly be undone, but the scarring left on the hearts of those truly misplaced, those who have experienced extreme loss, may never be undone. As I meander the beach I once knew, this barren lifeless expanse that seems so cold, I realize that though my loss was not extreme compared to the suffering of others, it is an extreme loss to me. A beach that was so bathed in sunlight, a beach littered but still beautiful, a beach ending in rolling dunes with swaying grasses, where has it all gone? This featureless tundra holds almost no conformity to the beach that used to be mine. But now, it is my job, my obligation, my mission to protect, nurture  and love this beach because it is still all greedily mine. Mine to gape at, mine to grow glassy-eyed. Mine to wander and become lost in thought as I had done so many years before.

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