cool sand, quiet surf, infinity not far to the left.
Days aren't hours, minutes, seconds,
but grit like the sand, or the salt water as it ebbs and flows,
or the placid stare of a nearby seagull,
or the rose tint in distant clouds.
Time is the grossest measure, however "accurate,"
and the least soulful.
This ocean knows.
Over its horizon are depths and heights
still unscalable by man,
still unthinkable by woman,
still brimming with treasure for children.
Imagination isn't for the weak seeking escape,
but for the daring and strong seeking a better path,
a higher path,
a truer path.
Certainly it isn't just for children.
Or haven't you figured that out by now?
Near the Imperial Beach Pier, San Diego, California