Walking down the beach
Watching various passers by
With various modes of movement
They bike
They skate
They jog
They walk
But there was one lady
Pink cotton spandex bikers
Tie dye shirt with a matching hue of pink strewn through
Sneakers on, hair almost pink,
Walkman pumping a tune
Known only to her.
Must have made her gleeful…
Because she was strutting,
Stepping,
Grooving in her rhythmic step
With all her dentures on display.
She was no spring chicken,
Yet wise enough to don her Walkman
And let her hair down
And she didn’t give a hot damn
What the jogging, biking, walking, or skating passersby
Thought of her boardwalk prance.
Enjoying a stranger enjoying themselves and knowing they don’t know the exact caliber of joy they’re giving you, just the sheer love of them loving life… Soaking all this in and inwardly determining to lovingly, happily spew the same…
Feeling that welcome high-noon caress of salt-seasoned wind as it softly peppers my cheeks and nostrils. The waves glide, say and sashay their recurring hellos.
The little birdy congregants are engaged in after-church chatter, some in small squawking groups, other choosing to scamper and tempt the waves.
As usual, this blog is a testing ground for all sorts of things, from horrible Haiku writing to slideshow platforms available on the Web. Here’s the latest I found through a friend at onewayoranother.net.
