To reach a place on the beach
Just by the road side
With sandy ground and tall weeds
On a clear sunny day
The sun low on the horizon
The sun low on the horizon
There is spent camp fire from the night before
Burnt woods gathered in center
Surrounded by logs and rocks
I find an open spot by the weeds
And sit leaning back on a log
Legs stretched out
Feeling the softness of sand
Feeling the softness of sand
It is a cool afternoon
Not quite winter but almost there
Like 65 degrees getting cooler
Soft gusts of wind blowing time to time
Looking down I see
The waves crashing onto the shore
Where the ocean has receded and dark brown sand glistens
Reflecting the setting sun
Far away at one end of the beach
I can see some people fishing
And wonder whether it was a good day
The beach stretches for miles to the other end
Being flat and almost seeming endless
People walking their dogs
Children running and playing
Sound of the waves muffling their laughter
Sound of the waves muffling their laughter
I look over the sea
Vast open sea as wide as the sky
The horizon appearing inperceptively curbed
The horizon appearing inperceptively curbed
With a tanker ship silhouetted by light
Appearing stationary
But moving towards some destination
Sun is almost touching the horizon
Its rays reflected on the ocean
Always looking bigger somehow
As it is about to set
Few white clouds float far away
Partially covering the sun
Already with some hint of orange
But slowly getting darker and richer
In pink, orange, and violate
And in front of the clouds
A flock of birds in perfect harmony
Migrates to warmer south
I lean back even more
And notice the crescent white moon
Just starting to show
And from campfire afar
The scent of burning wood
Is carried by the wind
Is carried by the wind
Everything in slow motion
In no hurry to end the day
Being part of the earth
Savoring each moment
As I sit there admiring
The beauty, peace, and tranquility
Forgetting the passage of time
Watching the sun
Set to mark the end
Of another day
