
Down that narrow lane
Where the facades of the shops are bright
And the path bends east and out of sight,
The unknown future beyond the curve beckons.

The paths by the sea are quiet this early in the day
As the sun rises over the Matanzas Bay Inlet,
Gifting golden rays to the eastern walls and trees.

Hurricane buckled and rotted dock,
Malformed and misshapened over time,
Its driving dream of aquatic adventure
Withered and abandoned in line.

No one saw the loggerhead
Pull herself ashore last night
Cloaked in predawn darkness.
No one saw her dig the nest,
Nor lay her eggs, nor cover the pit
Nor drag herself back to water’s edge.
Still, we and the gathering others
Linger by her tracks in hushed adoration.

Arriving early
Before the breakfast rush –
Peace of mind dining.