the morning shyly moves away
in waves of mist and cream;
and i move damp with spray and sand
into a walking dream
the dimly cast horizon sits
beyond the veil of sight;
where time stands loosely, hands by sides,
and day melds into night
your breath i hear, your touch i feel,
as light as feathered gauze;
the scent of ocean waves and kelp,
as hope – with its own laws
and so the mists of morningside
surround and pierce through me;
the walking dream of one who’s still
at one with
destiny
To share is human:
That is food for thought. Also, I’m going to rub a number of golden lamps, should I find any, and request just one thing of the genie within: to be transported to that beach! If I have to make 2 other (personal) wishes, a towel and a blanket will do nicely. Did you snap this photo?
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No, although I have taken a few decent beach photos. If you figure out how to transport to one, please let me know.
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I will! We’ll have to keep it secret, though. Midwesterners like my s-i-l fall in love with the ocean — big love! — there’d be a heck of a crowd on every beach!
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