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The Beach - January 94

January 94

in the end they all went
the youngest, a girl,
crying, shouting, unwilling
but packed in anyway
with her bathers, towel, het
- "she'll want to swim
once we're there" -
eventually subsiding
to determined mutters
"I want to go home"

and the beach
frothed, wind-tossed,
waves breaking on the shore
the little kids
excited now -
the girl puts on her bathers
impatient to run
into the tumultuous water
laughing, squealing
on sturdy, soft childish legs

playing in the sand
digging a moat
to protect their castle
but the waves
made stronger with wind,
or perhaps an incoming tide,
rush past,
fill the moat,
wash over the castle
melt its hard edges to smoothness

two older boys
catch waves
here's one, quick
grinning as adrenalin
flows with the bumpy
rushing, tumbling ride
to shore
come on mum
it's warm
when you get wet

she goes in
intake of breath
as the water
splashes and tickles
at her waist
then dives
beneath the white water foam
of a breaking wave
streaming salty wet
the sun glimmers
and glitters on the water

toiling up the dunes
don't forget your towel
is that our hat?
down there, on the beach
and home, dropping sand
and beach towels
on the floor
bags first shower
shivering now
i'm cold
what's for dinner?

© 2019 Nan Hewitt

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