I’ve watched them 

tame the magnificent blue curl

which is a beast so frightful and so wild.

They brave white salt on skin against hot-golden sun 

or arctic cold raging under Northern lights. 

In any case such reckless courage, such

risk and such delight.

In this manner 

I’ve watched them delve

deep into the good life, the way (we all agree)

surely only surfers can 

or hunters in quiet, mist-soaked woods

or farmers who feel with soft hands 

the blessings of a new breath birthed 

on a spring day bursting green with grass.

But as they opened their mouths

I heard not the rational;

I heard only the chasing of Love

and that, I realize, I’ve got. 

Now – as pen floats across white swells of paper –

I, too, paddle out to find the wave 

and I listen for little secrets hiding amongst stems of trees

and my fingers run through the miracle of damp warm fur.

I, too, am chasing Love.