Beaching, by Marsha Mathews

Marsha Mathews

Some call whales who beach themselves
a mystery, but I don’t know why.

White sand glows, iridescent.
Gulls toss weightless shadows against it.
Waves lap it,
leave wriggles of wine-colored sea weed strewn
sparks of cowries, whelk shells.
Sandpipers dart into foam
billowing like veils, glistening.

Every morning the beach meets
a new spectacle as the sun pushes
color into sky: orange,
pink, teal, blue, so many shades
of blue; and goes out trailing
lavender like kite tails.

2 thoughts on “Beaching, by Marsha Mathews

    • Hi Cliff,

      Thank you for the thumbs up on “Beaching”! Yor comments, and those
      of others help me to carry on with my next book, BEAUTY BOUND.
      (A few years away, I fear).

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