It could not be better,

This paintbrush which comes out at each present moment,

Moving air, salt-filled water,

To massage our bodies and spirits.

Especially, at days end,

Where God takes a final, blessed bow.

Seems like the day is done once more.

Time for a seagull to reflect, or hope the surfer has a snack for me.

As others, who cannot swim, tread lightly on the wooden deck,

To reach out in a dry way to meet the sun and sea.

One more time.