Cold, Gray Seas

Steely skies fuse with cold, gray seas;
the horizon indistinct in the distance.
Walking down the beach, I pull my jacket a bit more tightly
against the damp chill of the fall afternoon
that envelopes the eastern seaboard.
A brisk wind carries in the sea's salty scent and
pulls a light mist from the tops of approaching breakers.

The waves, energy all but spent
on their voyage to the shore,
tumble over onto the firm sand
with a loud swoosh.
Then, unable to extend farther into the realm of dry land,
they slide slowly back down the sandy slope
with only a whisper to mark their return
to the deeps from which they'd come.

My footprints on the beach are distinct
but for a moment.
Edges quickly crumble as damp sand fails
to hold the impression,
all sign of my passing erased.

Squawking gulls survey the scene from above,
nervous sandpipers scamper at water's edge.
They are oblivious to sights and sounds
save those
that might lead to a meal.

As daylight wanes, I walk up the slopes into softer sand,
pause at the edge of a dry sea of tall grass
rustling in the wind.
Slender blades bend and sway in the breeze, pointing away
from the ocean, as if telling me that it is time
to go.

Looking back one last time, I reflect
on the grandeur of the sea and sky,
the maneuvers of the shore birds.
My brief journey here has ended,
but the ebb and flow of water
and life
will go on.

Home.
Though now unseen, I know this:
sky will meet sea, birds will search for food and
footprints will be erased;
but not my memories of time spent
under steely skies by cold, gray seas.