Season’s End

Chair in hand, I make my wayphoto 5
Down the road, across the sand.
I sit by the water, my back to the sun,
And watch what’s left of the day drift away.

It’s quiet. Only the waves and gulls
Make themselves heard. And the sun
Splashes low on the clouds, streaking
The sky full of reds and gold and blue.

Part of me revels in this separate peace.
So small against the horizon,
Hovering at the edge of the world, I
Lose my way in the surf and the sea.

The days are still long, the water is clear.
The stores are still open, the sun still warm.
But, where waves of umbrellas once covered the sand
The beach is now empty, the human tide gone.

Somewhere in the world a clock has chimed
Sending us back to school, to work and home.
I can feel the thrum of it, even here
The urgency of dreams, of hope, of life.

It’s time to go back, to embrace the day.
Yet, I still linger, beside the sea,
Wondering how life would be
Without the hurry, the stress, the care.

Then, I fold up my chair and face the sun,
March over the sand and up the street
The season has ended. It’s time to go home.
It’s time, once again, to go home.

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