A beach by any other name
My beach isn't bright yellow sand and incandescent blue skies.
It's not stinging sunburn.
It's not frolicking in the waves wearing skimpy lycra.
It's not beach cricket, and it's certainly not sun baking.
It's not warm, not embracing, not relaxing.
My beach is dark, and grey, and difficult.
It's tumultuous, and aloof, and always windy.
It's people wearing long coats as they walk their dogs.
It's driftwood, and lone surfers perched on their surfboards far from shore.
It's a foggy horizon, a bleak shore line, and sand not marked by any other footprint.
It's my beach, and it's my home.
*Meaghan
What I'm reading: The Memory Room by Christopher Koch
What I'm listening to: Day trotter session - Whitely
5 comments:
Beautiful photo, beautiful poem.
lovely!!!
awesome t-shirt :-)
but it's YOUR beach.. therefore it's beautiful. Great image.. you can feel the weather by looking at it!
Agghh Meags he's rapidly turning into a real sized boy. I must come visit you and your boy and your beach soon. Actually how about next week? I've got some days off. I'll give you a tinkle on the telepone this week to plan.
Brilliant! I can feel the cold wind and smell the ocean. Your writing is beautiful, as is your photography. Miss ya!!
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