The tiniest of waves on the surface of the lake
Make a starlight pattern as far as the eye can see
Bright to look at, cheery, too, and inviting
As the wind surfers gather, shooting across the water,
Their sails of yellow, orange, blue and fluorescent green,
Zipping one way and then another, crossing the horizon,
Up the long pier and beyond the lighthouse
Straining their muscles to hold on tight to their flight
A quick breather as they glide onto the mound of sand
Bearing ripples of its own as the wind dictates
Each grain of sand to its rightful place in the scene
Beneath the deep blue sky and cotton clouds on high.
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