RED IN ITS ANGER

I can feel the storm approaching.

Moving closer to shore.

A spray of water in my face.

Salt in the air.

Palm trees swaying.

Sand rippling.

A wildness in the air.

Birds fleeing for safety.

Waves crashing.

Sky turning darker.

Red in its anger.

Roaring its fury.

Raining down tears.

When will it end?

Once the sky is finished.

Once it’s calmed down.

The sun will peek out.

The birds will return.

And all will be right

with the world.

Tantrum over.

PICTURE PERFECT

Perfect lines cast in the sand.

Had they been made by man?

Or could the waves had made them

when they lapped upon the shore?

Bringing moisture to the hot sand.

Leaving behind their own

distinctive footsteps.

Footsteps that cannot be duplicated.

Temporary footsteps until the next day

when they appear again.

Like magic?

No, like nature.