The Dunes
The simple act of being there.
I was sitting on a hillside in the dunes on a breezy day
Trying to make some poetry.
I realized the poetry was all around me.
The sound of the wind weaving through the pines
Made a rushing sound.
The dune grass yielded willingly to the caresses of the wind.
A million grains of sand tumbled and danced in a momentary gust.
Everything was in motion, except me.
I sat still and enjoyed this poetry.
Copyright 2026 Thomas Dean