Before the dawn, when all is dark and still,
magenta tints are spread across the arc
of this fair bay. They slowly turn to gold.
A breeze springs up to lift the veil away,
with sudden freshness that assaults the nose.
Grey seagulls, mirrored in the sea-glazed sand,
strut up and down the beach on sticks for legs.
They peck round turban shells of mottled green,
for doors not closed to save the snails within,
then arch their necks, and lunge at morsels cast
ashore upon the gentle to and fro.
Small scallop shells are lifted by the tide
and soft insistent nudge of swirling surf,
where carmine strands of weed drift listlessly,
erasing three-pronged tracks of dainty birds.
I clamber over limestone rocks, to watch
clouds tinged with pink against a duck egg sky.
A sudden wave throws up a diamond spray,
just as the rising sun begins to spill
a blazing shimmer path across the waves;
a tempting path to take when my time comes,
but while the clock still ticks, I am enthralled.
|
