A walk along the Shore

 
Awakened with  childlike anticipation, 
the world gives way 
to a shimmering haze of blue. 

An empty swathe of pale gold sand 
meets the eye and 
catches the breath
with a haunting beauty. 

Wind-blown and almost deserted,
but for
a solitary figure some way West.
A setting unheard of
but these are exceptional times. 

As if stripped of all unnecessary
accoutrement of human activity,
unadorned  
where land meets the sea.

Fine dust and grit from an onshore wind,
A translucent sea
held still and glistening;
soft, turquoise blue- 
a sheen against a pastel sky.
Cool sun
and gentle beams of light
cast shimmering lines
on the water surface
as it 
gently tickles the shore.
A shallow skin of water 
forming undulating pattern 
of shifting sand
and rhythms
play 
under the ever-changing sky;
shadows modifying the colour 
in a mesmerising way, 
Ribbons of blue green stain.

A gust of wind 
entombs 
faded footprints
which lead to water's edge.
Intuitively,
drawn to follow,
we too sink feet 
and set  our footprints there 
in perfect line;
our pattern is the same.

And with flattened stones
Sea- worn smooth 
in palms,
we skim the mirrored surface
and watch the spring
on the meniscus
spit and ripple. 
Concentric circles 
widen
to dissipating pattern
repeated as we play.
Instinctive is  the need 
to hold a shell 
or turn 
sea glass in the hand.
These are tactile pleasures
reciprocated every visit
on a walk along the shoreline.

We tread lightly:
take nothing but the air,
the freedom of the open space, 
our voices on the wind. 
sand in the hair, 
the breath of the sea ,
the memory in our DNA.    
 

Ruth Partridge