Red maple swings in the yard
and azaleas bow,
the finch sings to the music
while grasses rustle.
Sun beats the drum
on the skin,
the clouds move in a wave
while the ocean rolls in.
A gull rides the waves
as we sit on a log,
smashed into shore
on high tide.
A fogbow appears,
droplets in sun,
yellow-white,
a 360-degree arc.
We wept at the gifts of the sky.
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