Lunch hour

The sun is beaming through my window and keeping me from looking down at the paperwork I must complete, I am torn between work and the outdoors - should I make up an excuse to leave and walk along the shore like the many times I've done before, it would be nice to sit and watch the ocean lap and ebb at a soft pace with the warm winter breeze running through my hands and across my face, and I would think about your words and how they sang like the sounds of the wind whispering through bare and brittle sea grass along the plains of ice blue ocean waves and hissing through the sand dust and washing clean the withered and torn relics set aside from past tides - a dizzying dance swirling through my brain; I think I shall take that walk it's not too far to go to be close to you once more . . .