A Treasure Chest of Possibility

We spread out along her shore 
collectors in a treasure chest of sand
barefoot and free 
to pillage the piles, left behind.
The power that fuels her waves
doubles when the winds blow
lifting the churning water
into a rolling dance towards shore	
water and land collide.
Leaving a mass of tangled 
roots and broken limbs,
rusty cans, 
and chards of green glass
bits and pieces of this and that. 
Each pile a chest of possibility  
if luck is abound -treasures are found 
from pieces of precious driftwood 
to shiny relics of past.
Today was one of those lucky days
treasures be- three of us found
time to settle down
for the night will end like it always does 
with a roaring Bonfire.  

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