August 11, 8 a.m. walk with the dog

Overcast skies, but no rain yet as predicted.
The humidity is thick. It muffles sound and softens the light, like walking through cotton balls.
Creatures scatter in the bushes along our path.
A crow flits from treetop to treetop, wrestling for balance and drunkenly leading the way.

On the beach, the smooth bay surface blends into the gray horizon haze.
The outgoing tide brushes the sandbar. Glad I left my shoes at the stairs.
The water is cool, soothing the spots where no-see-ums are nipping my ankles.
The dog splashes in and out, searching for shells and birds. I could swear he’s grinning.

A boy and his mother walk by. He has an armload of baby clams to bring home.
I break the news that they’re too small to eat and broker a deal.
Toss the clams back and I’ll give you this sand dollar I just found.
The clams buy another day. The boy walks away a little richer.

The sun starts clearing a path through the clouds. It’s going to be a scorcher.
The dog has bored of chasing gulls and nuzzling dead skates and crabs.
I start thinking of the day’s work ahead. And air conditioning.
He’s already focused on a cookie and a nap.

Happy birthday, Turk.