children coming home

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Deserted by the masses who go to worship

the sun and use the mother sea and yet ignore her.

Ye this is my favorite kind of beach day.
I love to go, watch cap pulled low
wool coat with the collar up around my cheeks
I lean into the onshore breeze,

wet and content.

A pipe in hand, the pungent

sweet smell drifts aimlessly warm around my face.

I dream the dreams of every old sailor

no longer at sea,

from the most ancient of sea fairer to captain still,

I stand alone

insignificant.

Watching an endless sea crash to shore

the rain falling silently on sand

dancing on the living surface of the sea.

In peace I stand transfixed,

the smell of wet wool, salt, tobacco, and seaweed lingers around me.

I watch the sea,

It's children softly returning home.