Alone she writes

a blurry photo of a bunch of flowers

Alone she writes at the table overlooking the sea
words that I’ll never read so no value judgment here
old school, I see,
hand on paper
no electronic device which is
a rare sight for someone her generation.
Glimpsed at her notebook in passing
her handwriting is too regular
too neat and intriguingly so
we’re polar opposites her and me
who write like a dog in the fog
with bad eyesight and a broken paw
not her though.
She watches the sea with legs stretched over
a chair, alone, conversing with her thoughts
Smiles to herself
Becomes part of the wider scenery of vast sea and eternal land
fleeting moment after fleeting moment
as much a part of my happiness as
the sky
the chirps
the wind
my blissful mind.

And I smile to the thought of an implausible
“August 25th, first entry:
Entropy will not let this beer grow any colder…”

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