Army Mom’s Safe Haven

Christina: The Beach


We looked golden in the dying daylight
as we walked along the beach.
It was strangely silent
where only hours before
It has been bright and warm
and loud with sounds of waves and laughter,
radios and running feet;
colored with beach umbrellas
and bog blankets
beach towels and bathing suits;
and now, the only sound was a wave lapping at the shore,
seagulls crying forlornly
and the sand was bare -
dotted with shells and a child's plastic shovel
for building castles in the sand,
Castles now made flat
with the storming of the waves...
The sand in day's bright light
was gritty and hot to the feet,
now soft and cool.

The beach is somehow
lonely in the night,
and we were saddened by
its loneliness.

©Copyright September 1967 by Christina