Sweat.
Summer heat,
a glorious day,
bottles of water upon the beach.
A cool breeze,
a book,
some food and a place for the mind to be at ease,
as the sun shines down,
and the water sparkles magnificently as I read,
and usually,
there is not much time to read except on holiday,
not much time at all,
and oh, how I devour,
the words off of the pages,
the large and the small,
and how easily I escape my normal life,
and how easy it is in a book,
to escape the struggle and the strife,
and how beautiful it is by the seaside,
reading Dostoyevsky,
and Kant and Graham Greene,
and the words how they fill my imagination,
with visions and dreams,
visions, dreams, plots, and schemes,
and what a wonderful day it is always by the sea,
reading,
reading with a smile upon my face,
in the heat and in a gentle breeze.