Flip flopping alone along the beach he listened to the surf. It sounded like a broken record spinning on a Victrola turntable.
Under tropical sun he deciphered Sanskrit messages cuneiformed by webbed footed gulls, pelicans, and red-footed boobies.
Observed meandering flipper lines of hatched sea turtles queuing up to hit the surf. Soon swallowed by the sea.
Played in the waves, spied the flash of naked tanned flanks. She sported a postage stamp bikini that enveloped her obvious femininity.
He'd read nature's message in the sands of time and knew she would be his.
submitted at 10:22pm
14 October 2010
John Brooke writes to entertain; with poems, short stories, flash fiction, novels, articles, essays and screenplays. He lives in a fishing village in Baja California Sur, Mexico.