She read aloud to the sounds of crashing waves.
Lying out, stretched like a yawning cat,
She listened. Losing herself was un-easy,
The book hovered in front of her eyes.
Reading was her beloved, with one caveat,
Always too attuned to the habitat.
Her mind cannot be still, it wends,
Its way towards the crash of waves,
Why are the senses forever in such combat?