At the shore:
the same fisherman each day; white hair, red eyeglasses, wearing a yarmulke and chest waders
fingerprint sized sand dollars, the rarest still intact
a trail of discarded, sea soaked sunflowers
a pod of acrobatic dolphins cavorting in the waves
the small pleasure of flying a colorful kite on a blue sky day
twilight's translucent sailboats like sheets of vellum as they drift back to the marina
two labradors laughing, I'm quite sure, as they clamber from pier to pier
a treasure trove of tottering sand castles adorned with delicate seashells
When you die, God and the Angels will hold you accountable
for all the pleasures you were allowed in life
that you denied yourself.
- Roger Housden
Roger Housden here on the pleasure of not being perfect...