The sky is filled unhurriedly with cloud,
a mass, white-backed, breasts brushed soft gull wing grey,
and thoughts, too indistinct for words to say
amass, float, tumble, never form aloud.
The wind and sea contend. The white caps roll.
The sand is still warm here, protected by
the lee of tea treed dunes. Warmth radiates,
a source that strokes and penetrates,
and leaves you one with sand, with where you lie.
You're filled with life beyond life you control.
To stand, to walk into the sea, to gasp
as cold salt water stings the sun from skin,
to dive, to let the waves and water rasp
your mind to clarity, is to begin.