How�s the weather!!!! I walked along the beach again, As I sometimes do. A few were gathered on the sand, Umbrella�s and blankets to. I found a spot up near the top, And I sat down on some kelp. I watched them down there playing ball, And heard a puppies yelp. He just had to join the fun and play, Though small he was with them. Never-the-less he had a time, They also played with him. I never was the beach type see, In the flatlands I was raised. Water was a commodity, Just hot and dry on most days. But I loved the morning walks I did, The mist and fog from the sea. It was more than I was used to, The high humidity. And the half buried whalebone, High upon the beach. Told of sadness at one time, As it lay there white and bleached. I lay my back against a dune, Now those I was aware. For we had a few ourselves, On our prairies bare. The wind would move our sand around, While here mostly water. Kind of like a family, Here mother, ours the daughter. The white caps reminded me, Of a lake I sometimes visited. It was a man made lake, High winds usually made it limited. The same thunderous waves would roll, And crash upon the banks. Ours were not so large as these, But still big as waves were ranked. The difference here was the water and sand, For which they should give thanks. For back there where I come from, The water�s separate, from the sand on the ranch. So I guess soon I�ll feel at home, When hurricane seasons here. With 30 and 60 mile an hour winds, Lesser but still feared. But then we have tornadoes, Many every year. So many in fact and flat the land, Most watch in awe not fear. I grew up knowing a lot of them, My home was tornado alley, Just a mesa, no forests, or mountains, A dry riverbed for a valley. Now forest fires are dangerous here, Of that I don�t deny. With us it is the grass fires, High winds and very dry. The only thing we didn�t have, To this I can�t compare. Here they have the earth quakes, We�ve never had one there. But what we have you don�t have here, Are Blue Norther�s many times. And Black Ice near invisible, So clear you can read a dime. And someone had once told me, But you�re used to it my friend. And I said you�re mistaken, Tolerance is our sin. So all in all, the story is, No matter where you�re at. No ones ever satisfied, And that my friends a fact. The Masked Writer <o.-> � 2001 T Lovett |