Winter months find the

beach house deserted.

No sandy trails lead in and out.

No half-filled pails, shovels,

sand-covered flip-flops,

half-dried towels or discarded bathing suits

lay in a hodge-podge pile on

the white-railed wooden porch.

The shutters are pulled tight against

ragged winds and spitting tides.

The laughter of summer’s play

has subsided into the short,

dreary days of winter’s respite.

No longer inviting–it sits in silence.

Winter now enjoys the

vacant beaches, its winds

blow unhindered across the frothing tides,

in and out to sea.

Shells, sea glass and drift wood

rest upon the shore untouched,

sand layered over them,

perchance to be discovered

by deliberate search.

Chilly days grow icy

and bitter, offshore gusts

bluster ashore, collapsing waves

upon the gray, empty beach.

The house and shore celebrate

this time alone, savoring

the quiet time for reflection

and rejuvenation–their winter

solstice spiritual retreat.

My entry for Thursday’s Poet’s Rally:   http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2011/09/agreement-for-thursday-poets-rally-week_21.html