Tag Archives: Beach

Leaving the Beach at the End of Day, For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 646, Mar 17, 2024

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Leaving the Beach at the End of Day

The drifted sand over sun-baked clay
impedes our progress, prolongs our day.
A rose-red sun, gem in the sky,
a veil of pearl-white cloud floats by. 
We pick our way across the beach,
scarce foothold here within our reach.
Another page in our book of days,
grateful for an enshrouding haze,
our reddened flesh, lips split by sun,
are welcome payment for this day of fun.

 

For The Sunday Whirl 646 the words are: flesh sand clay scarce drifted pearl page split pick veil rose gem

A Day at the Beach

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A Day at the Beach

My hairdo is unraveling in the ocean’s spray,
and the men are talking fishing so I haven’t much to say.
I do not know their language and the sea breeze makes me cough.
My skin’s at risk in sunlight, but a stone-throw’s distance off,
in the shelter of a palm tree, I find shade, at least,
open up my backpack and partake in a small feast.

Then after I have eaten, when the sun has reached the rim
of the far horizon, I finally have a swim.
For once the sun’s not flaming, it creates a lovely glow,
sinking toward the ocean and vanishing below.
The sea has pleased the fishermen all day, cast after cast,
but as the sun sinks into it, it’s pleasing me, at last.

For CMMC: Pick a Topic from my photo Photo by Cee!!!

Beach Morning

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Beach rocks Sherry swam to
A closer view
Sherry nearly to shore
New arrival via raft from one of the offshore yachts. Trying to get free from his flotation device.
Thanks, Mom
Doggie camaraderie.
The beach house
Sunset partiers
Morning visitors.
Our friends’ beach house
Beach decor
Beach walking
Living room
Back patio
Dining room
Front garden of beach house
Poolside visitors
View to the north from “our” deck.
Offshore rocks in zoom.
Sherry’s flipper

Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.

These photos are all out of sequence and Word Press seems to have changed things so I can no longer put them in the order that they occurred. The last photo is of Sherry’s flipper as she swam back to join us at the beach restaurant. I’ve spent two hours trying to get the photos in sequence and another half hour with WP tech help to no avail. If anyone reading this knows of a more writer-friendly platform for blogs, please let me know. So sorry that Word Press is getting progressively more non-cooperative.

Beach Morning

Fear of contact with that first cold wave keeps me lingering in bed this second morning at the beach. I can hear the surf that pounds the beach just ten yards from the garden wall of the house where I am staying for a week with friends. If they manage to rouse me from my warm nest, we’ll probably walk again down the beach to sit at a table at the Playa Azul to await Sherry’s return from her long swim to the offshore island and back. She resists the group swim that will take place later, the participants attached to floats on their backs to ward off overenthusiastic speed boaters  who otherwise might stray too close, forgetful of the fact that other humans traverse these waters unencumbered by craft. It is her opinion that this daily journey is best accomplished in private, face to the water, snorkel fins flopping like friendly pats upon the ocean’s surface, as if to beat a friendly reminder that someone is about to visit.

Every January and February (and sometimes March) for years, I stood in these same waters, closer to shore, doing my thousand exercises while fighting the waves–lifting on their inward journey to land, feet settling again to sand on their outward pull back out to sea. Having nearly drowned once long before while Kayaking the Rogue River in Oregon, I preferred water with the security of a firm surface under my feet, even if it was just at intervals.  What snorkeling adventures I have participated in since that near-fatal water adventure have included a boat within swimming distance, and so sitting here with longtime friends, discussing past adventures and writing and those other beach visitors that walk past us on the beach, I can’t help but keep an eye peeled for a view of Sherry’s flippers, flopping into view a mile or so away across the water, circling the small island, moving away from the sailboat that veers in her direction.

She will return to land, removing her false frog feet, shaking water from her second skin, to join us for coffee and hotcakes and eggs, chilaquiles or breakfast burritos, orange juice and papaya. Joined together again in the most communal of activities–a shared meal–we will again be united by those activities we share: laughter, tall tales, plans for the day, watching beach dogs, memories of past camaraderie, shared absent friends, plans for the rest of the day. This vacation at the beach after two years’ absence is a balm that soothes my soul and makes me thankful for this day, in spite of the future that might await us due to those others who guide the fate of the world. This day, this hour, the minute behind us and those long minutes in front of us are ones of our own making, and they are perfect.

Prompt words today are fear, opinion, forgetful and cold wave.

Travel Challenge, Day 5

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I was nominated by my friend Konstanze Venus to post one favorite travel picture a day for ten days without explanation, then to nominate someone else to participate. That’s 10 days, 10 travel pictures, and 10 nominations. I may not make it to the end of ten days, but for now I nominate Dolly at Koolkosherkitchen . Some people I nominate may be on Facebook and others on blogs. Just post wherever you wish but link to me so I know you have. If you are not interested, no problema.

Nowhere in the rules does it say you can’t guess where the photo was taken and that I can’t agree if you are right, or keep guessing if you aren’t. Or answer any other questions you might ask. It’s just that I can’t publish any explanation in the original post!

Go HERE to see my Travel Challenge photo, Day 6.

Forecast

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Forecast

The frugal rays of winter’s sun, sifted through the trees,
seem to have lost their power. They can’t dispel the freeze.
We watch the speckled darkness to try to find a sign
that promises the advent of a weather more benign.
The purity of winter, frigid and refined,
is melted in the heat of a summer sort of mind.
We stretch out on the beaches of our memory,
viewing with our minds that baked futurity.
Wound up in our mufflers, sealed snuggly in our gloves,
we sit on benches in the park, recalling summer loves.

 

 

Word prompts today are darkness, frugal, watch and refine.

Tidelines

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Tidelines

The water laps from shore to shore,
From India to Ecuador,
bringing precious things and more—
dried starfish and an apple core,
a never-ending seashell store.

The water laps up ever higher.
The ocean wave will not expire. 
Tide on tide, it does not tire,
topples chair, douses campfire,
to the wind’s insistent choir,

The water laps around my feet
in the day’s insistent heat,
always destined to repeat,
to the moon’s consistent beat,
this constant rising from its seat.

The water laps against the dock.
Listen to its constant knock,
testing the seawall, block on block,
undiminished by the tock
of nature’s ever-ticking clock.

The water laps by halves and thirds
against the sides of ships and birds.
All its shores it scours, then girds,
undetained by  poets’ words.
To stop the sea? it is absurd!

 

For NaPoWriMo’s “repetition poem” prompt.

 

We Gather to Write

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We Gather to Write

Waves crashing in below us and jovial repartee
from the ones below us in the small café.
The waiter interrupts us. We order coffee, tea,
or jugo de naranja, but, dedicated, we
return to our writing. It’s what we’ve gathered for,
here where it is quiet, up on the second floor.
Leather covered tables, and equipales, too­­––
tablecloths of orange, yellow, purple, green and blue
as though they had instructions to make use of every hue.
These vivid pigments  seep into all we write and do.
Children leap through tide breaks, walkers gather shells.
Swimmers move hand over hand, out beyond the swells.
But we above just write of it, revealing how we love it
as though we were a part of it instead of here above it.