The sky is clear,
pristine and calm.
The breezes soothing.
No storm could invade,
nothing to throw shade on this new day.
It is early and the swirling
surf is crisp,
the waves lap the shore
tasting all flavors within.
I begin, board in tow,
steps deliberate.
Slow. No one near;
the sky is clear.
The surf beckons,
it reckons to take me
for the ride of my life.
My board is waxed and
it wanes in the bob of eternity.
The waves and me,
I paddle to the crest
in waters way over my chest.
Well over my head instead.
Giving me all that I can take.
I watch the pipe form.
I think I’ve made a mistake.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019

Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #475: Mode of Travel