Protected by sand dunes and salt marsh does seem a fragile thing
and with gulf stream's warming breath not yet delivering this early morn
I should be leary; but I don't mind as I wrap fuzzy shawl of silk
and wool about my shoulders.
My son's braver; hoodie and shoes scatter where he flings them
in his usual zig-zag, helter-skelter fashion.
Seems I've traded salt and snow for finely blowing crystals,
almost imperceptible until lying upon cool, moist sand
I marvel at their quiet journey of slowly shifting this barrier island
of little to no bedrock.
I call my son to share, but my voice is swallowed by wind and surf.
He's scampered far ahead, poking at shell deposits, driftwood,
forcing gulls to abandon lucrative breakfast sites and ride shifting winds
I abandon myself to absorbing, watching, imagining rangy ponies
that once freely roamed this coastline; pirates that rested (and liquored) post-pillage,
shipwrecks - of lives lost, others saved; heroics retold for generations.
Ponder last night's ghost-walk and for once, believe every word.
My son is back, cheeks flushed, hair damp. Shivering.
Surrender my wrap as he leans against me, shows me half a sand dollar.
Come noon we'll have pail and shovel in hand; for now we have in mind
Flying Melon Cafe's smoked salmon omelette and shrimp scramble.
By Margaret Bednar, March 23, 2016
This is linked with "Poets United Midweek Motif - Climate"
The winter beach is officially over and spring pricing is well under way. I love the discounted rates and truly love the solitude and beauty of what the ocean has to offer during it's "off season", winter.