Motor running, hard
drops of ice whip by our heads;
Mid-day at Race Point,
Nowhere to hide, except for
my torn, straw sun hat;
calm tides twirl dancers
floating by, like the warm breeze
in my strands of hair,
hot sun; harsh rays bolt
from the sky; looking down, soft
palms, dirty on stone
Empty path, windy day,
Grey skies at Gray’s Beach, water
No crabs were hurt during this photo journey; found crab claws.
Summer’s end, crab on
empty Gray’s Beach, hiding from
fisherman and bird.
Bear with me, I decided (finally!) to create some prose to accompany the photographs and live up to the theme of this blog. Forgive any mediocrity and lack of haiku awareness, training.
sliced plum, torn peach, late
sun; hurried wife wiping hands,
wet bowls, white and glass.