Foaming Tide, Sculptable Sand, Warming Ray
We can pretend at our Black Ridge reservoir but it is a sad approximation.
I watch the kids run from the incoming tide. Untiring hours spent jumping the surf.
My hands unconsciously sift the sand, dig, pat, carve. Intently watchful as the tide edges the kids down the beach. They collect treasures, open clams, sink their toes into the wet sand. There is No better way to spend a day.
If we could live there, I would. Maybe some day.
No comments:
Post a Comment