January, Latitude 47

The wind is washing waves over me,

moving birds and branches with a

jet engine

pushhhhhhh...

swaying, not sand, 

but sky high sentinels

shouting in whispers, 

not of water

but waves on

sullen shores of sky

far, far from

the summer season

a world of blue water away.

~~~~~~~~~

Sharing in community with Laura for Playdates--mine was outside.