When the waves roll in
And wash over,
They do not just push,
They also pull.
Sway to the movement,
Stumble on the ocean floor,
The cymbal, the steady beat,
The steady shake and hum of cicadas in the trees,
The distant reverberation of the unknown.
The quiet chitter of flitting wings,
The silent predator hovers in the sun,
At first a rustle, and then, the wind whirls a gust…
It is a beautiful day for creation.
The clouds accumulate
The tempo fades and quiets.
The wind pushes forth encouragement.
©Christine Samad 2021