Zee Spencer

The Windsurfer

She chrouches, alert and ready.
Waves crash across the bow.
She clenches the mast tightly
She furrows up her brow.
Winds roar with fury
Waves whip to foam
All other beach-goers
Turn their faces home.

Not the lone windsurfer.
Cold and wind combine
To turn wretched weather
Into an ideal time.
She leans, She twists, She catches
A roaring, potent gust
She skips across the ocean
She leaves birds in the dust.


Embrace those opportunities which arise from discomfort. They may contain a secret joy


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