No bay this but a long narrow line of sand, the spiky dunes holding back the breeze,
To make the walk away from the crowd uncomfortably hot, below medusa sun.
Zig zag to find firm footing on unmapped sands, above the wash of the waves.
Pale sand with white shells, pearl sky and sea tone, parched seaweed.
Small heroic seabirds pit and run on ahead to lure the predator from the nest.
A creek cuts the beach and pours invisibly into the ocean, forcing up sand to form the waves,
Far on, in solitude, a calm stretch of sea tones to purple; strip off, run in and swim.
Salty fizz and cool bliss turns to low fear as the rip tide pulls away from home land.
A visitor in this now cold and fearful element, dumped cargo in the current,
Fear burns to fatigue, slow and steady, to find footing and foolishly naked, wade ashore.
And sit down and be slapped by the shore break and laugh repentantly
At the close call and briny baptism.
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