Toes hold on to sand far beyond the beach,
Hose it off, yet it still grips.
The hiss of the breaking waves,
Relentless in their takeover of the beach,
Flattening castles built with effort
Throughout the days by enthusiastic toddlers
As the sun moves effortlessly across the sky.
Mothers with sleeping babies
Wrapped in body carriers and nuzzled close,
While dad’s run ragged after siblings
Attempts at cricket lasting a few minutes
Before squeals of delight that the ball is lost.
Crunching gravel as cars arrive and depart
Coins chinking onto palms in exchange
For takeout cappuccinos, a taste of home,
A pick me up, lip-smacking sighs of appreciation.
Older people sat in beach chairs,
Panamas still the most stylish form of shade.
Dogs panting, seagulls cawing, children crying
From stubbed toes, lost ice creams, tiredness.
The sounds of summer. I sneak to solitude
An empty holiday house, a rock in a cove,
A book page slides between my fingers,
And the sea and a more distant rolling sound,
Reminiscent of a lullaby