The soft grey blanket of the pacific lay like kindness over the basin.
On the ledge of the shore just before the precipitous flattening of the failing surf
she caught me: her straight back, hands together in front of heart, head bowed.
She had an aura as I trudged through the cool sand with my too-loose shorts;
she said “meditation” she seemed to breathe “prayer”.
I found myself at the lapping salt tongue of the Pacific; I breathed, I slowed down.
And as I turned to make my way up the beach, I saw,
I saw it as a ran,
I saw it as I ran back, and stretched,
I saw it when I turned in the waves, laughing, as they lifted me off my feet.
She was on her iphone,
with all this wonder at hand.