Last weekend,
I went where no internet lives.
Drive east across the flat sandy hills,
Over bridge so tall
I see over rooftops
To houses, to dunes, to beach, to ocean waves.
Walking to the end of the pier,
Silent and reverent
As fishermen cast out the lines,
Reel in and cast again.
Below me ,
I see the ripples form
Mere wavy lines this far out,
Then white caps roll over
Like an obedient dog
Crashing and tumbling on the shore.
I stand there present.
Where No Internet Lives.
Enjoy poetry, prose, and a few musing in your inbox today!
