Ken de Jong

Sun breaks through the fog
and I see white sand,
a jagged line
of green seaweed,
polished driftwood
and gulls with black caps
circling overhead.
The air is rich
with the smell of fish,
of salt, of the Pacific.

I cup the cold water
in my hands,
let the ocean trickle
through my fingers,
chart a path
over the dark wet rocks
before I free
the child within
to scamper and discover
hidden treasures
of countless tidal pools.