A collection of days

There was a usual spot reserved for us
in the corner of the end breaker
not the sunniest
but sheltered from the wind

That was our place for years
a home to sandcastles
frisbee and french cricket
or tricking the skies with
stunt kites

We had toy surfboards
tried to stand
and swam back to shore

never too far out
and careful of the tide
when the sea came in
the moats of the castles would fill
protecting them from all except
eventual collapse

Sometimes there was no space
we moved down the prominade
or up
away from all the people
next to the rocks and the steps up
the cliff face
returning when
the intruders had left

Out of season there was
all the space in the world
the sand a canvas for thoughts
scribed by driftwood
and the sea
more determined to make it presence felt
as it competed against the wind

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