Grands of sand rise like the flight of small birds
startled to the wing by the wind’s crisp snap,
gently whispering lost and secret words
tracing out ley lines not on any map.
Tan sided dunes heave, sensuously glide
and twine, flanks glistening in the hot light,
broach and shoulder their way with vast slow pride,
coasting the currents of day into night.
And you, there on the hill, look out to sea,
breathing the salt sharp air that strokes your face.
And you there on the hill, look out to sea:
See the bright wings flash, sea birds rise to race.
May you always walk the paths of beauty,
dream dreams of rare and wondrous quality.