Winter Beach

After the rain, the speckled glint of shimmering sand is now muddy brown. Like a blind, closed tight on the warmth of summer, the winter beach has shrunken in, changing the colours of my day into a darker palette, shades of grey. The sun shriveled pale faced and worn as the cold season begins. Seagulls a beacon against a slate November sky their sound, comfort to a lonely beach. The steps down to the water, pea green, slimy weed on stone bright against an ink-rippled tide. Seaweed colours bleed into my mind while textures playfully mingle. The salt air stings my nostrils caresses my lungs with wellness. Sea sounds carry from the shores of Wales as I crunch the length of the ebbing milk tide. I look to the horizon and imagine another me walking a beach somewhere over there, listening to my thoughts, as they channel the sea Grateful for this beauty, the gift of the nature I look over my shoulder, my footprints remain solid, as in a freshly cemented path their sound, echoes in the shells.