Walking The Seawall
The horizon shines with a faint glint
that says dawn.
Chilly February wind
wrinkles the gray water.
A rhythmic shush matches
the advance of foamy parallel curls.
A marching band of gulls
plays its one-note woodwind symphony.
Strange pink blocks of granite
hold firm at the base of the seawall.
Moist salty air seeps into every crevice,
and drips off every surface.
New construction on old buildings
marks the passing of another hurricane season.
More light brings color to this mural.
I turn and play the scene in reverse.
The horizon shines with a faint glint
that says dawn.
Chilly February wind
wrinkles the gray water.
A rhythmic shush matches
the advance of foamy parallel curls.
A marching band of gulls
plays its one-note woodwind symphony.
Strange pink blocks of granite
hold firm at the base of the seawall.
Moist salty air seeps into every crevice,
and drips off every surface.
New construction on old buildings
marks the passing of another hurricane season.
More light brings color to this mural.
I turn and play the scene in reverse.
