Cake 18

The Beach

Time to set off into the summer season of cold, roasted chicken, eaten sitting on wide, sandy beaches with lengthy, shallow waves receding and leaving behind secret rock pools of shy, nippy crabs darting behind bulbous seaweed and then out into exposed places to be caught in nets of surprise.

Holes in the sand to hide our bodies, to excentuate our heads, to feel the restraint in our legs, to make a car to drive to distant places, to dream beyond the dream, living and loving this contemporaneous beach life, to taste the tears streaming down, dried by the warm breeze, forming crusty crystals on cheeks flushed with joy.

Filling buckets and channelling water to form small lakes absorbed instantaneously, never tiring, enduring unsuspected streams gushing, demolishing built ideals of kings and queens, only to repeat the process one hundred milllion times.

Fresh, salty air and wind beaten faces bursting with excitement to see the old man come toddling down laughing cheerily, his red hat to match his red face, calling out, his words grabbed by a falling gust of air, running and jumping and shouting out and feeling the happiness of the ones you adore.