Winter months find the
beach house deserted.
No sandy trails lead in and out.
No half-filled pails, shovels,
grit-covered flip-flops,
half-dried towels or discarded bathing suits
lie 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 squalls
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
someday 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
