Calloused, brown bare feet

brush the weatherworn softness of the dock.

Years of storm and sun

have velvetized this manmade trail of wood.

Sitting, shoes beside me,

I skim the tips of my toes

over the cold, glass clearness of the water.

A warm breeze carries me gently from my

dreamless day …

Now, here I sit,

dangling my feet over the edge,

the feathery breeze

whispers through my toes

and tickles the backs of my knees.

A white bird flew past,

brushing the tips of its wings across my cheek.

That was a memory,

sparked by the high, crystal blueness of the sky.

Its rays burn fiercely,

cooling on the long journey from heaven to earth.

The warmth of my sun-drenched face

has been given the essence

of summertimes long since past and nonexistent.

Photo of the Month by Lane V. Erickson