Free

Out of my window
I can see blue.
Blue tumbling waves 
Blue clear sky.
The smooth brown wood under my hands
Hasn’t changed at all
Since I last came here.
The ocean surface ripples and changes.
Changes, but still familiar.  
The sounds from the ocean sound exactly like the conch shells we kept
When we lived in the city. 
The soft crashing doesn’t scare the birds away. 
They weave in and out of the ocean carelessly.
I wonder what I have to do 
To become free.