Matins

 

Waking early I rise and move

Into the morning,

Just itself stirring.

 

My sandals echo

As I move along the concrete walkway.

The air is soft

Yet the sea's breeze tugs away

The last vestiges of sleep.

 

Expecting no one

I am surprised

By three male forms.

The first with binoculars,

His back to me,

Oblivious,

Scanning the sea.

 

The next stands naked

Where the concrete meets the beach.

We exchange a greeting, formal and polite,

Like executives in a first time boardroom meeting.

 

Slipping off my sandals

My toes exult in the sand's softness,

As yet cool and welcoming.

 

Moving with measured tread towards the sea

I encounter the third man

Naked too, traversing the shoreline

With his acquiescent dog.

No communication,

But a comfortable acceptance

Of each other's presence.

 

As I run into the sea

It grabs my ankles

Like a playful child.

Too cold, though,

To do a Reggie Perrin with my clothes.

I settle for two knees' worth of morning water.

 

The rising sun, as in some stylized print

Framed on countless suburb walls,

Dances obediently on the water.

The sky, a blue vastness with flecks of feathered clouds,

Completes the scene.

 

Forgetting the clichés

I hug the morning to me, close and still,

Remembering words from a recent dream -

“I came not here for an ordinary day.”