In Other Words
by Jace Daniel (b. 1969)
The Sun sticks His nose up from the Southeast as expected, exhaling His Dawn rays over the inland Mountains, across a coastal suburban sprawl of flat orange, into the piercing Pacific spray. His solar nasal drip skates across the salted cobalt moodiness to collide with the rebuttal of February’s raw gusts in holy matrimony, the cerulean Sky as Their witness. An oxygen-expelling Wombed Fish revels in a mind-clearing swim while a stereotypically early Fowl of the Sea soars in formation with Her colleagues, temporarily deviating from the committee to plunge beneath the choppy aquamarine surface and exploit an opportunity seen only by Her. A curious creature, homo sapiens clothed in its synthetic ensemble, bides its time atop its seven-foot altar of buoyancy, rubbing elbows with the pulsing froth of the Deep, promiscuously ambushing its next twelve second stand. The Ocean orders Her lathery troops to charge a club of sleeping shoreline Rocks in a relentless blitz of vanity. In the kind of stubborn wisdom that transcends age, these Gentlemen of Stone remain unaffected, at peace in Their permanent slumber. I consume this masterpiece from my point of no return, from our vertical meeting place, our Bluff with no lies. I tip my grail, my temporary vault of brewed inspiration, to finish what I started. In a sort of figurative parallelism, the Canines do the same.
In other words, it’s just another beautiful morning at home.