Tuesday, August 19, 2025

Surf, a poem

Surf

The solid world fades before the fluid
reality each wave holds in its heart;
Escape with us, they whisper. Leave your truths
upon the sand, to wash away as all
such castles will. Yet I shall build anew.
  Build until I once again grow weary.

Stephen Brooke ©2025

this is what surfing means to me and why I have no interest in contests and wave pools and such 

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