The sky covered in a blanket of blue bruised clouds.
A beach above me. Over the horizon.
Blocking the sun,
Enough to take the sweat off the skin,
To threaten a chill as the sun sinks,
A long walk through the deer park,
Where through thick brush the white tail deer skitter in a line led by the youngest followed by mothering does and somewhat reluctantly by a slightly limping six point buck.
No reason to break from cover,
he probably grouses (should such communication matter in the minds of deer, almost unknowable like most of the transactions occurring on a daily wake up walk)
The blanket of blue clouds
like stuttering slaps of raised sand
footsteps across an endless beach leading to nowhere in particular.
I have no idea what to do with this invitation
but allow myself to breathe
and graze on energy with the rest of the herd
till full, lazy and seeking a nap,
under a bush, in safety obscured,
I forget myself and sleep,
That would be a fine day at the beach.