All is One, All is Different

The rain has stopped.

A damp hush falls.

Sea, sky and sun

turn silver

as if spun from the same stuff

or turned into something else entirely.

Rhetorical Question

Is there anything

more wonderful than being

the mother of boys?

Old Man's in Winter

It's still winter, water in the fifties.

I paddle stiffly and scramble for waves

until my hands get to feeling like they do

when you rummage around in an ice chest

for too long,

looking for the last cold beer

at the bottom.

I peel off my wetsuit

and rinse under the cold outdoor shower

in a clump of bamboo,

then fumble for my car keys

and climb into the driver's seat.

Wrapped up in the deliciousness

of a dry towel with the heat on full blast,

I can't stop smiling.