Echoes of Kiawah: A Reflective Farewell
Beneath the sprawling blush of dawn, our feet became one
with the sands of Kiawah Island, grains glistening like scattered stars,
each a tiny sunburst caught in the curl of the earth.
We danced under the great blue dome, where pelicans
etched their grace against the sky,
wings slicing through the salt-laced breeze
in a ballet of dips and arcs over the rolling tides.
The sun bestowed its golden benedictions upon our shoulders,
a warm, lingering touch we carried
through the tapestry of days and evenings.
We listened—oh, how we listened—to the symphony of waves,
a constant hum, both lullaby and roar,
cradling the coastline in its rhythmic embrace,
resonant in our chest cavities, echoing the pulse of the ocean.
Seagulls, those whimsical drifters, traced their hieroglyphics
across the canvas of the morning sky,
their cries a tart melody over the whisper of shifting shores.
At night, the beach transformed into a moonlit stage,
silver light playing upon the undulating waters,
each crest a shimmering ghost, fleeting and ethereal.
Yet, as the tendrils of early summer weave through the air,
we say our goodbyes to these sun-soaked days,
to the theater of birds and the symphony of tides.
Our hearts, tethered to the rhythm of the waves,
feel that pull, that gentle tug of sadness, as we depart
from this haven, this sanctuary of sea and sand.
Until next May, when the sun reclaims its throne,
and the beach, patient and unchanging,
welcomes us back to its open arms—
our spirits will hold tight to the echo of the ocean,
a rhythm ingrained, a perennial whisper in our pulse.
Farewell, dear sands, keep our footprints safe, nestled
deep in your memory, as we keep you in ours.
Copyright © Don Iannone | Year Posted 2024
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