until the perfect swell,
high and glassy,
rolls in.

Turning, I take a few strokes.
And then I know that I have caught it.
Head down, arms outstretched,
I ride just ahead of the crest
in a perfect moment of
water and motion,
all the way in,
to be left on the sand
water receding around me,
gasping and grazed
(and hoping my swimsuit has survived),
but exultant.

Until I hear:
Mum’s been beached!
Quick, help me roll her back into the sea!”


I’ve been reading this morning instead of writing, much of it poetry on other people’s blogs from the other side of the world where it is summer. Luna kindly posted one of my summer poems on her site recently, Queanbeyan Pool. Here is another summer poem, written before the road to the coast was closed by fires. And yes, one of my little… darlings… did say that. “Children are the future. Unless we stop them now” Homer Simpson. 

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