Wednesday, October 19
Suds quiver like jello on the edge.
A grain of sanderlings skitters along the water,
and one seems to surf a wave.
A pair of gulls gaze out at who knows what.
An older couple about my age,
with rolls exposed, strolls past,
she in a two-piece and he in a Speedo,
both dark-tanned and unashamed.
The waves flaunt their muscles,
fold over on themselves
and rush back to the sea,
only to return with majesty.
I kick off my sandals
and let God wash my feet.