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On the Other Side of the Peninsula
The breeze is gentle here
on the other side of the peninsula,
away from the incoming wind,
where the waves
are still rhythmically lapping in.
The clanging sound of the dock
carries clear, though,
clunking in syncopation
against the background gush of water
rolling in frothy bubbles over sand.
The drone of a lawnmower is amplified
over the still water on this side, while
a low strum of crickets tune up tentatively
for their cacophonous evening concert
in the soft rustle
of pliant pine needles overhead.
Delighted voices of discovery
chime in over the placid water here,
lending ambiance to sun and surf,
as the merry little breeze dances about
scattering harmony and joy
like a flower girl distributing peachy petals,
or Pachelbell delivering concordant chords.
A piano begins echoing this refrain
with a verse from a hymn
slowly and unhurriedly played,
deliberate, plodding, and reassuring in familiarity.
The breeze hushly hums the backup chorus,
like brushes barely touching a snare drum,
enfolding and embracing the day with mellow peace,
as the dock continues clunking against it’s restraint,
and the water chimes in, strumming up
the base clef with regularity.
Polly Castor
9/12/12
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