After more than an hour spent crawling
Through cool waves contentedly, the swimmer
Sat on a driftwood log waiting to get warm
Again. Direct sun was blocked by a column
Of cloud to the west, an epiphenomenom
Of the wildfires even further west. The sun
Would be blocked by the top ridge of Valhalla
Soon enough, a full hour and more before
Official sunset. The evening breeze kicked up,
Enough for a bit of surf but not enough
For whitecaps. No sails, no kayaks, no motorboats
In sight, and only the sound of boys on bikes
Laughing and insulting each other invisibly
On the Molly Hughes Trail behind a veil
Of summer green. The swimmer grew warm
Again. Is there any comfort as kind as a body
That, having moved well and shivered hard,
Returns to equilibrium? Is there any contentment
Quite so fine as the solitary, open-air, sunset kind?
The pillar of cloud glowed with the sunken sun.
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