Winter Morning at the Shore

in the morning, the ocean is calm,

trash trucks canvass the boardwalk,

preparing receptacles for a new day’s rush,

the air is cool but not cold,

life ticks on,

gulls fly by and waves dance,

everything as it should be

everyday;

on tv,

the talk is about syria and new righteous wars,

but the dolphins and gulls

don’t know about these things,

and neither should we;

but still we do;

it is in our nature,

our heritage,

and so we will,

but it is of our own choosing,

for we have options;

you go for a walk on the boardwalk,

Chinese Christians gather on the beach,

praying to make sense of it all,

you watch from afar,

thinking about your work,

and promises made but not kept,

about the predictability of it all,

and how sometimes you wish you were wrong;

just once;

ocean waves slowly pound the sandy shore,

as you realize they could care less,

that everyone could care less,

and perhaps,

you should care less too;

you think of your father,

and how you wish you could show him,

that it doesn’t always have to be his way,

that it is okay to feel good,

that it is okay to simply be;

but you know that you never will;

winter at the shore,

is the best time of all,

for some it is a given,

others hold fast to it

like a man drowning in the ocean,

later these thoughts will mean nothing,

but for the moment,

they are everything;

they are

all there is;

perhaps the golden years

won’t be so bad after all,

maybe they will be

just what is needed;

or at least something new;

crawling back into bed,

reaching for her

warm body,

happy to be where you're at;

happy for one more breath.

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