Where did the weekend go?

Cold clean sand underfoot
Makes that special “cruch” you don’t hear anymore
With so much dirt in the sand

But it’s here this morning
Welcoming me back
As I walk along
My favorite stretch of beach
You can still beach comb

The swell isn’t as good as earlier in the week
The tide a little too high
But it’s my first surf in months
So I don’t complain

The ceremony is the same
The surf check
The suit up
The walk

My wetsuit is dry
Dry as my whistle
Dry as my gills

I stretch and walk
The water surrounds my ankles
And I’m home
After a long absence


Love your photos and poetry, thanks for sharing. And your description of sounds beings back fun memories for us too, the . . . squeak. . . squeak . . . squeak of fresh dry sand here. Aloha!
pranaglider said…
Cher - Thanks for your note. I hate to subject anyone one to my poetry let alone on a Monday but today it's all I have to share. The reference to the sand squeaking was just a memory. It doesn't happen much any more.
Loved this.. very nice.. your words were music to my ears! Thank you for sharing!

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