Posts Tagged ‘surf’

 The sky is blue, the sun is hot
Wisps of cotton float across sky
The sound of gulls fills my ears
Air is the aroma of the salt sea 

A black two lane cut by twin yellow lines
A bridge, a road, the usual place to park
A sense of expectation rises
Excited eyes look east

The air is cooled by a seaborne breeze
The white sidewalk is hot to unshod feet
Tall grasses waving beckon us forth
Towels and lotion in hand we march 

Sand covered wooden walks lead the way
Slick wet steps, evidence of passersby
Thorny little grasses clutch at exposed skin
Sugar sand beckons just beyond the dunes 

Crashing waves and squeals of children
A barking dog, a flying kite
Eastward calls to the slower make haste
Savoring the moment crossing the last dune

Oiled bodies laying on wind tossed mats
Coolers of beverages and ill-behaved umbrellas
Flying disks and girls crying watch out
Arms hugging bodies as the first waves hit 

Sitting and watching, soaking the sun
Conversations only half heard
Distant ships setting out or returning home
Sails skipping over waves or lolling in the breeze

Coaxed into moving, cajoled for just sitting
The waves are calling, the waves are calling
The first ginger step barefooted on sugar sand
Run to the wet part, come rushing wave 

Ankle deep, current pulling sand
Feet sinking slowly, toes covered slightly
Cold salt water lapping at my feet
Another step deeper, a splash at my knee

A silly grin on my face, I’m five once again
A woman just squealed, a wave struck her back
Deeper I go, it’s up to my waist
It’s always colder than remembered, I dive in 

Time travels quickly, hours slip past
Lunch is eaten, beverages drank
Castles built, castles washed away
Friends are chased, laughter given

The sun falls westward, the air grows cold
The chill in the water heightened by the wind
The sun loses its strength, clouds mask its warmth
Last attempts to do anything to forestall the end 

At last all things are packed, nothing forgotten
Sugar sand dunes covered in footsteps
The sun steadily falls westward, westward
The car is full of sand that persists, everyone is ready 

A black two lane cut by twin yellow lines
A bridge, a road, the usual way home
A sense of expectation fulfilled
Sleepy eyes look east

The sky is orange and red, the sun goes to sleep
Majestic brush strokes paint across sky
The sound of road noise fills my ears
Air is the aroma of the sea and oil 

The sky is dark, the lights are on
Sleepy eyes shut, their day is done
Familiar streets arrive, turns are taken
The car is stopped, we are home

Note: Inspired by Krystal Waters’ “Shore Line and Sandels”

 ©2008 Dave Doc Rogers

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