Beachcomber


The beach is mine
On this cold winter's day..
Not even a sea gull or a least tern
to catch the salt spray
The storm has left its treasure chest
swept from the ocean's deep
Starfish, sand dollars, a myriad of things
to keep...
The shells I thought were empty
Begin their trek down to the water's edge...
Wavy trails back and forth
Along the littered beach...
The hermit crabs have begun their escape
And I let them go on their way
I will not collect their new homes
The pretty shells are theirs to keep.
I continue on my way down the sandy stretch
Exploring for the treasures
The waves have washed ashore.
Sand dollars the size of my hand
And perfectly formed to add to my collection...
Gnarled and graying driftwood
To adorn the mantelpiece...
An empty conch shell to admire
And to listen to the sea...
And a bottle with a note
Washed ashore from who knows where...
Seaweed to dry and a net to hang
and treasures to display upon it...
My basket full, I now return to the warmth
of the fire indoors
And while I sit inside on those dreary days
when the weather keeps me in
I'll pull out my treasures from my hunt
along the solitary sand
To enjoy again my lonely trek
And to see the crashing waves...
To feel the calmness of the beach
after the winter storm,
To see one set of footsteps
and enjoy being alone.

Debbie Green
© 1999

Written by my wonderful wife