Just So

It’s high tide; the surf crashes up to the seawall rocks.
So I put the beach chair down on what was and will again be a sandy beach.
Just to hear the fierce waves.
Just to feel the water pull me and the chair deeper into the wet sand.

It’s 80 degrees and 80 percent humidity at 11 pm.
So I turn off the AC and open the bedroom windows.
Just to hear the barred owl sing.

It’s the last 20 percent stretch of life.
So I leave the suburbs and buy a creaky house near the ocean.
Just to hear the fog horns warning the ferries to be safe.

It’s impractical to listen this way.
And it is just so.