North of Monterey
Near the light Pacific surf I stand as still as a piling
so as not to disturb the willet
who is picking food
from the foamy beach
with quick beak thrusts,
eyeing me every few steps.
My shoes are sinking into the wet sand.
He looks again, finally walks away
on rapid, ridiculous, remarkably fine legs.
Between us everything has been
very civilized.