Summertime Waves
Weave along the seashore
Some changes in the weather
It happens subtly.
Summertime waves weave along the seashore.
And evaporate to spray.
Some tumble and some are steep.
Others wash over my head.
I bob and weave and take a breath.
Some curl and splash instead.
I soak the sea up like a sponge.
When on my morning swim
There’s a parallel perception.
Each wave another whim.
Adaptation is a measure.
I call on constantly.
To move just like the ocean.
And attune instantly.
Swimming is a rhythm.
A horizontal dance
Massaging of the waters
In a metaphoric trance.
I swim my way to liberty.
A clearing of the mind
Like a ritual washing
And leave the grime behind.
It’s like a new beginning.
The way I start each day.
Adapting to the elements
when I go out to play
©
David Rudder
2022
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