Children are playing next to the
ocean coast
and sand castles are built with
their digging
hands symphonized with their joyous
laughter.
Near the beach, sea rocks are thirsty to move
from sitting next to the New England
attic rooms.
The air is cooling down and the
little kids
are now nesting on the rocks, trying
to get away
from the cool summer breeze, chilled
afternoon winds
and the dancing waves.
My little girl is one of the children,
and with dreamy eyes
she is pretending to be waving at
the Beluga Whales,
the wave makers of the sea ... from
coast to coast.
The beach and the people are getting
ready for
todayÕs close-up and I hear my voice: "Dokhtaram,
Bia!"
We have to say goodbye to the sea
and the whales.
Her little body fully clothed floats across
the air, arms in the hands of her
father
and after two more rotations, is
satisfied to close
her wings for the evening ride.
She slips the shelves and shadows
of
her new found friends within the
walls of her night's dream before
another summer-morning lights the
start of the day
for her to watch the length of her
footsteps
on the sands next to the white waters
and dancing waves.
Dokhtaram, Bia: in Persian it means, ÒCome my girlÓ