shade of a black oak tree,
I find myself
swaying to an unidentifiable beat
the leaves rustle,
a gentle reminder
to dance at odd and random moments when
no one is looking
awkward laughter fills the acne-scarred air,
jokes told with insouciance,
the mood shifts, hearts aflutter,
the moment strained
eyes dart around, trying to read,
a discomfort of awkward deed,
a hush descends,
the silence clear,
and what’s left is laughter escaping once again
the ocean at night; breathtaking spectacle
lost breath
fills with wonder
the waves thunder against the shore,
frothy crests illuminated by the moon’s watchful glow
water reflection, a shimmering, an iridescent path that leads to the unknown
gazing upwards, distant beacons,
casting a faint light over the sea
constellations above are like stories woven into the sky, each one telling a tale of gods and heroes
the sounds of the sea are a symphony of harmonious melodies,
a soothing lullaby that lulls
listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore,
the call of the seabirds overhead,
and the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface
wishful at night
in a magical place, where the mysteries of the sea come alive
reverence taking hold
as creatures from the depths below begin to surface
Fred Aiken Writing 