Morning surf levitates, pleats upon itself,
collapses to crash ashore,
scatter dismembered kelp clues
against freshened etch-a-sketch sands.
Ground squirrels stretch,
bask atop fallen cypress.
Gliding hawks survey chaparral.
Shredded fog drifts overhead.
Cottontails shelter beneath white sage
as field mice forage among golden dunes.
I meditate, scribble poetic musings,
as blue jays frisk brittle grass.
By Jennifer Lagier
Jennifer Lagier has published ten books and in literary magazines. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, co-edits the Homestead Review, helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings. Forthcoming books: Harbingers (Blue Light Press), Scene of the Crime (Evening Street Press), Camille Abroad (FutureCycle), Forthcoming: Like a B Movie (FutureCycle Press, 2018).Click here to visit her website. Photo by the author.