It could not be better,
This paintbrush which comes out at each present moment,
Moving air, salt-filled water,
To massage our bodies and spirits.
Especially, at days end,
Where God takes a final, blessed bow.
Seems like the day is done once more.
Time for a seagull to reflect, or hope the surfer has a snack for me.
As others, who cannot swim, tread lightly on the wooden deck,
To reach out in a dry way to meet the sun and sea.
One more time.