Nature is surrounding me

and the 'me'  that I had believed

and thought myself to be is slowly

(and perhaps mercifully)

being whittled away, like the rocks that turn

into sand from the constant pounding

of the waves. Could it be the 'egoic self',

(so to speak), is being whittled out of existence,

along with my penchant for words?

The  longer I am here, the more silent I become,

as I settle into the bottom of the sea,

completely content.