Walking on the Beach in Winter

By Kinjiro Tsukasa

The summer's white-sand multitude is gone The ocean air now cleansed of the odor of suntan oil

Leaving an icy atmosphere tinged with sweet salt-water scent

Bracing, and yet delicate

There are no children or radios or footballs today

The only sounds are the timeless susurrations of the beach itself

Rhythmic murmurings of the waves, the crashing of breakers

Tinkling whispers of water receding past thousands of motley pebbles

Reposing on hard-packed sand

The shrill keening of the herring gulls

And my thoughts, suddenly become louder than life

Shadowy creatures still swim the pelagic deeps

While on shore, only birds, an occasional fisherman

And me

This is a world transfigured

Sandy banks, formerly smooth

Now undulate in peaks and valleys

Wrought by winter's fierce tides and barbarous storms

The intermittent odd object dots the sand

Unidentifiable, its salient features obliterated by the agitation of the sea

Neptune's flotsam, washed ashore to a terrestrial grave

I walk alone and marvel at the quiet splendor of the winter beach

My footfalls barely leave a mark on the wet sand's glistering sheen

So constant, and yet so ephemeral

Rather, the beach leaves its own mark on my soul and claims me as its own

I see the curvature of the Earth reflected in the immensity of water

Unbounded view, Europe or Africa on the other side

I am alone, but not lonely

The sights, sounds, and scents of the winter beach are my companions

Soothing me into a peaceful contentment