At season’s end, a lone walker savours the beach at low tide,
inhaling brisk salted air, feeling wet sand between the toes,
and etching every delicate detail in his memory.
Swimmers and splashers disregard changing southern breezes,
while runners and rovers, still dressed in summer outfits, brave cool days.
A few lone birds, reluctant to head south, ignore nature’s call.
Standing in the shadow of fall, sightseers rush around,
trying to pack in the last few activities of the season,
realizing, there are some things they will never get to do.
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Nice to see your poems back from vacation.
Look forward to reading your lines of poetry, Larry.
It is nice to have you back. You always offer a fresh view on ordinary happenings.
It’s funny how our experiences shape our preceptions. For me I won’t miss the flies, humidity and blazing sun, but then again I’m a bit of an odd duck.
Glad you’re back my friend