Pensacola haikus

the waves eternal
lick the stones with salty tongues
and beg acceptance
. . . . . .
pelicans in flight
soar on spirit winds above
they know many things
. . . . . .
old streets with old names
live oaks stretch fern-clad branches
above ancient bricks
. . . . . .
Daytime joggers trot
and scent the fresh sea air
much like searching hounds
. . . . . .
The emerald coast
greens and blues and sparkling white
nor who but me sees?
. . . . . .