on the Beach
spring on the empty beach,
gulls soar on a still-chilly breeze,
the slate sky slides and blends
with the empty endless lake.
are big enough to swoosh
as they end their journey with the wind.
The seamless sand is pitted
with last year's plodding footprints.
It's too warm
for heavy coats, too cool
for bare-arm shirts. It's in-between time.
Sweaters and desultory conversation
seem to match the uncertain season.
clouds float west
on an invisible current of air, capture
the sun then releases it just in time
for a few more encouraging words.
The soft sand
yields to our pressing feet.
Walking is a chore and the cool wind
carries our words towards the green land
where we gather them from the grass.