Hope you are too.
Green and cross-hatched with waves, frothy fireworks explode over the breakwater.
Gulls fly drunk while I search for treasure.
I pocket beach glass and covet pieces of driftwood too heavy to carry.
I cheat the great Pacific garage patch out of two toy shovels, one blue and one green, matching the clothes I'm wearing.
I might look ridiculous.
Trudging into the wind, I think:
It's the walk itself that is the treasure.
And this very breath, and the next one
and the next.