Beach Morning

Sophie likes to go to the beach

I can tell she is happy by the way she wags her tail

She is better in some ways than a child, since she will never grow up and move away

I feel lonely standing on the shore, just feet separating me from the emptiness of the ocean

I swim out far and then farther out, sometimes wondering if I have the strength to return

The lifeguard blows his whistle at me, but I pretend not to hear him

We take drinks with us, Rum and soda, beer; it's not allowed, you know, but I don't care

Nothing like a good beer buzz to put you in the mood

Just have to be discreet, of course

Margo says the surf talks to her

Endless chatter like baby talk that means whatever you want it to

I think maybe she is right, I just never listened before

She's kind of appealing being out of her element

Don't often see her quite so relaxed

Times like this make me realize how special she is

She thinks I take her for granted, but I think she is wrong

Jose lights up a hibachi in the gazebo by the parking lot

The smell of lighter fluid and charcoal conjures up so many memories

It was so much fun as a kid to go on a picnic

Theres always kids at the beach, and they are always happy

Sand and water, what better combination could there be for a child?

They build sand castles with their toy shovels and plastic pails

It's almost enough to bring a nostalgic tear to the eye of an old man

Margo and Sophie are asleep now

They surrendered to the gentle cool breeze and the slap of the surf

I am too busy people watching to give in to my urge to slumber

I wonder what a middle-aged woman was thinking by getting a tattoo

And I wonder what it says about me when I find it mildly appealing?

A couple of kids glide gracefully down the beach on a bicycle

I wonder if it is possible to ride along the shore all the way to Miami

I can think of no good reason why not

Perhaps another nominee for entry into my bucket list

The combination of beer and rum is starting to take full effect now

What better venue could there be for transforming into an altered state of mind

Nothing extreme, of course, just enough mellow to trim the edge

I start to fixate on the horizontal line that separates the water from the sky

How can anything in nature be so perfectly geometric?

I see a freighter slowly sink into oblivion on the horizon

How can anything be so far away?

How can waves crash to shore endlessly, never stopping for more than an instant, ever?

I hear a woman speaking Spanish on a cell phone, one umbrella down from us

A dirty faced boy scurries around under her feet

She has bushy hair, blown out like a Lyon's mane, and a tramp stamp on her butt

I hope she can't discern my stare, hidden behind dark sunglasses

She has all kinds of things hanging out from her bathing suit

She walks in circles, gesturing with her hands, occasionally glancing over at me

She lights up a cigarette and strikes a pose

She is Hispanic trailer trash to some, but not to me

The sandman cometh

I force the folding chair all the way back and peer up at the umbrella fabric

Eyes closed, I listen to the muffled sounds of children playing

The sound of the surf gently caressing the shore is intoxicating

I pull the hat all the way down over my eyes, and finally Crash........