A week ago today, I stood in sand,
My feet all buried in the gritty stuff.
I gazed upon horizon, flat and straight,
And listened to the ceaseless, surging surf.
(The sea has no desire to converse—
She's happy only when she has the floor.)
I took a therapeutic, salty breath,
Then filled lungs to capacity once more.
Last week, the days lay open and unplanned;
My schedule was determined by the sun.
Today? I'm driving to the dentist's chair.
My foremost thought? "Could I have dreamed such fun?"
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