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.
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