A hush
A breath of wind as we look out across the wreckage
Just scraped sand, really
But the chaos is etched into every groove, every
jagged line
Upturned pebbles and rocks worn smooth from the
beating of waves,
Piles scattered and spilled across beaches guarded by
slimy, slippery, silty fences
Huge logs of ocean-battered driftwood lie half-buried,
weary but still
Pieces of stone, brick and rejected litter return to
the beach,
Glinting shamefully in the sunlight.
And off to the side, flittering in the breeze, the
seafoam sits.
Like escaped tufts of bubble bath, it reaches further
and further up the beach,
Waiting for the rest to join it.
Just as expected, on the fifth wave, it comes surging
forward, the tide carrying
The clotted, clouded monster that rides the white
horses with a gleeful giggle.
It spreads over the sand greedily, its frothed, curved
edge a wide grin,
Ready to lick at our ankles.
We stumble over, laughing, yet our hearts are
pounding, only to watch it retreat, back,
Back away into the slurping riptide while it mopes,
waiting for someone to play with.
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