Hanging Around My Place In Limones Looking At The Ocean

It is 83 degrees in my bedroom with all the doors and windows open, the black beach dog is up to her neck checking the gillnet for fish as the tide comes and the endless cycle continues. The dogs don't realize that my watchman has already claimed the half dozen green jacks that were caught overnight
and probably eaten them already. Timing is everything on the beach, if you miss the tide you have to walk to my house and carry the groceries bought back in the world of grocery stores and paved roads. I really don't miss the traffic or car alarms. Instead it is the endless rhythm of the waves ending their long journey and the noisy birds and sometimes insects speaking a foreign language I will never learn but don't worry about since I think they are not really speaking to me. This time of year the lawn is lush and everything is green.

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