Breeze

Late-June clouds move east,
backing away from the Pacific edge,
leaving like a scorned lover, brooding, even pouty;
gray wet sand has shed its cloak.

Bubbles rise to the surface;
the hint of critters burrowing below –
almost hear them gasping for air.

Gulls, eyes alert, spying
the bursting bubbles,
swoop to hunt for a sea-food treat.

Clouds are now but a memory as the
Sun breaks through,
and back at my tent pitched
under massive oaks…
the breeze, done with clouds,
gently shakes the branches, awakening another world.
A myriad of patched
Sun spots scatter and dance
in the still dew-damp grass.

Eyes closed, I feel the dance,
warm fingers tapping over bare arms.
A rushing of
natural white noise,
disguising the life walking just there, almost within reach,
on the boardwalk beyond the wall…
so nearby and a world away.