Tradition of An Island Town

Dark clouds amidst the white, no glimpse of a bit of blue. No distant sails in sight. As the mist shadows the view. Silent waves touch the sand. The sea, as gray as the sky. The day is soft, as a gentle hand. A seagull soars, ever so high. Twice a day, the church bells ring, a tradition of this island town. A melody, that birds join in to sing, floating on air it's heard all around. Morning slips into afternoon, in the sky a glimmer of light. Hinting there may be sunlight soon, before the day fades into night. A solitary figure of a woman, walks along the beach. Her open heart, feels what her eyes see. Learning the lesson, this island had to teach. She found peace here, I know, the lone figure is me.