Three Day Beach
Fool
by Matt Hawkins
The sun beat down hard
on South Carolina's Fripp Island.
But nights were windy and cool.
Three days absent of smoggy intersections,gritty coffee pots,
eystraining laptops,and vibrating client voices turn ocean prism.
Crumbly cotton hat drooping low over pale forehead.
Lopsided laying body sprawled over weathered wooden dock.
Reflections of work week and responsibility fading
from heat and yellow rays.
Sea scented wind above
freemoving swimmers.
Floating. Kicking. Splashing.
Seagulls and herons
flew over deep striations
of changing blue current.
Whitecaps battled warm, sandy stretches for presence.
Where small feet left
impermanent traces, tiny hands reached
endlessly for treasures off the shore.
Greed existed only in
the essence of time itself - The will of
hourly tick taking poll of sea dreams on coastal scapes.
A mere three day
flirtation - eventually would rescind
back to work week utter
But Beach Fool
continued on with ocean lure and fantasy.
Forgetting all else.
Museum of peaceful
picnics and young playful voices
across soft sandy strips.
Common trite of human
individual relegated to
grain of salt next to great blue madness.
But Time's intention always perserveres. Beach daze waring.
The third day appeared.
Crystal salty water never felt better on skin.
Tides tier over imprinted sand, removing all history.
Vast beautiful blue
ocean, quick to draw one to it's paradise,
discriminates none, remembers none.
A new day awaits for a new beach fool.